I Forgive You

I remember walking into the doctor’s office on that sunny but sharply cold Thursday in February of last year.  I proudly handed over my shiny new plastic insurance card like it was the Willy Wonka golden ticket to the receptionist.  Finally, I had health insurance which gave me the freedom to choose a doctor, any doctor, to help me figure out the mystery as to why I couldn’t walk up the subway stairs without being on the verge of passing out, walk outdoors and be gasping for air if even the slightest gust of cold wind entered my lungs, wake up coughing and choking every night, and back pain that I couldn’t escape.  A few days before the appointment, I was searching on my insurance website’s database of general physicians in Manhattan.  I never can seem to make up my mind with very serious decisions such as tofu cream cheese or regular?  Flats or wedges?  To wear my wig today or not?  How was I supposed to choose a doctor in the sea of thousands?  I choose what football team I’m rooting for based on the color of their uniforms - this situation was not much different.  Scrolling through the alphabetical list of “A” last names, nothing popped out at me.  Eventually, I settled on a doctor whose name was at the top of the ‘B’ list (don’t worry, he turned out to be an ‘A‘ list doctor!)  He had a website and 4-star reviews on Yelp, and these days that means everything.  Most people know to avoid the establishments that get 1 or 2 stars on Yelp and I figured that same rule applied to choosing a doctor.

This was about two weeks after my biopsy in January when I was assured that there was no evidence of cancer by the doctors at Bellevue.  That the countless lumps in my neck and on my collarbone were nothing more than what was probably an ‘infection’.  They told me to schedule an appointment with one of the general physicians there to find more answers.  The earliest appointment they could fit me into was in JUNE.  “What is this?” I thought, “I’d have a better chance of getting reservations at The French Laundry an hour before my desired meal time than seeing a doctor at a mediocre hospital with amateur doctors”.  

No matter what, I still loathe the anticipation and impending doom of a doctor walking into the bright fluorescent-lit room.  I waited nervously, perched on the edge of the exam table that was dressed up in a sheet of crinkly paper.  My attempt to open a chocolate peanut butter power bar that was probably made in a laboratory failed due to the sweat on my palms.  I could have passed out right there but successfully distracted myself with the quintessential “soothing” paintings hanging on the wall.  I made an effort to imagine myself in that pale watercolor painted beach scene, sitting on the peachy-colored sand watching blurry seagulls fly by at dusk.  The anxiety was not related to what he was going to tell me, I was cancer-free and any hypothesis or diagnosis was better than CANCER.  My heart was racing because I knew he was going to gladly stab a needle into the crook of my arm and take my blood with such ease.  Miraculously there are actually people on Earth that can do this and not get grossed out.  I knew this after reading on Yelp that he likes to do the blood samples himself instead of the nurses.  

He casually strolled into the room accompanied by a smile and friendly persona.  I handed over my stack of papers from previous doctor visits and procedures as if we were about to conduct an important business meeting.  He skimmed through them, the look on his face slightly puzzled which then prompted a frustrated look on my face.  I tried doing a few breathing tests which left me lightheaded and defeated because of my inability to breathe properly.  He suggested that I may have asthma along with an infection of the lymph nodes which would probably just clear up on it’s own.  I felt incredibly overwhelmed and helpless from my intensifying symptoms, but perhaps they were really just temporary from an ‘infection’.  He had yet to take my blood so I assumed it was my lucky day that I somehow got out of it.  I was certain that he would send me on my merry way - besides, I had a lot of work to do and needed to get back to the office.  He excused himself from the exam room for a moment to make a phone call.  I could hear bits and pieces of his conversation through the thin walls and realized that he was talking about me.   He entered the room minutes later and calmly instructed me to see the oncologist next-door for a second opinion as he wrote me a prescription for an asthma inhaler.  The doctor had already set up the appointment for me, telling me this oncologist was able to fit me in to his schedule with the short five minute notice he got.  I was not scared.  I was slightly annoyed that I had to spend more time seeing another doctor, especially a cancer doctor, when I already had a biopsy and was told that there was no evidence of lymphoma.  

I strolled through the carpeted hallway and reached the glass door to the oncologist’s office.  Observing the oncologist’s name etched into the glass, I snickered at the funny first and last name he had.  For the second time that day, I handed over my insurance card to a receptionist.  She took down my information and then looked up at me, adjusted her glasses higher onto the bridge of her nose, smiled at me, and instructed me in her thick Russian accent to go have a seat.  I looked around the waiting room and noticed this was a different kind of waiting room.  This room was not full of relatively healthy people getting their yearly physicals, this was a room full of cancer patients.  One woman sat there alone reading a magazine, I could tell she was bald, but had a scarf shielding most of her head.  If I scooted to the edge of my seat enough, I could peek into the back room and see a frail older man sitting in a large La-Z-Boy-esque leather chair getting chemotherapy.  “I hope that’s never me in that chair”, I thought.  It was a somber waiting room and my mind began to wander.  “Why exactly am I in this room full of cancer patients?  I don’t have cancer, or do I?  Did that doctor I just saw really think that I do have cancer?”  Eventually the oncologist came out to retrieve me from the waiting room.  He was attractive, which was a pleasant surprise and made the visit oh, about .001% better.  If I had to be at an oncologist’s office in the first place, then this was the way to do it!  I sat down on the exam table across from him and yet again handed over my pile of medical records.  I was ready to prove this oncologist wrong. I already had a biopsy and a PRINTED OUT REPORT of my results so clearly stating “no evidence of lymphoma”.  He seriously studied my records thoroughly for a good five minutes, every so often giving an occasional “hmm”, or a tilt of the head as if he were attempting to fill in the empty squares of the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle in pen.  He examined the lymph nodes spread throughout my neck and collarbone, taking note of their location and size.  Within one minute, he leaned back into his chair and calmly stated with absolute certainty, “It’s lymphoma, most likely Hodgkin’s”.  I insisted he must be wrong, that he was jumping to conclusions without considering the fact I’d be totally freaked out.  Somehow I thought I could prove an expert wrong about his diagnosis.  I was in a state of complete shock, the tears began to pour out of my eyes as I attempted to convince him that “it can’t be cancer, it must be something else”.  I had Googled enough diseases within the past few months that are similar to lymphoma to debate this with him.  “But wait, can’t it be that sarcoidosis disease thing?  I heard people of Scandinavian descent have a higher chance of getting it, right?  Can’t it just be an infection in my lymph nodes, maybe a bad case of mono?  Maybe it’s from stress...I don’t sleep very much.  I don’t know, maybe it’s asthma, I heard adults can get develop asthma and I was actually just given a prescription for an inhaler”.

He wasn’t letting up, his commitment to my diagnosis was unwavering.  He IS an oncologist specializing in lymphomas after all.  What in the world was I thinking trying to debate with him something he is an expert of?  Deep down I knew he was correct, no matter how badly I wanted him to be completely wrong and an idiot like the rest of the non-oncology doctors I had previously been handed off to at Bellevue.  It’s hard to even describe how I felt at that very moment.  I was waiting for my alarm clock to starting beeping to wake me up from a bad dream, but as the minutes ticked by, the reality sunk in - I just turned twenty-four-years-old and I had cancer.  I was going to end up bald.  I would have to put my life on hold and go through all of that creepy, scary chemotherapy.  I needed to get a port placed under my skin to make the chemotherapy ‘easier’ to receive.  My life could possibly be taken away from me at any time.  He told me he would need to draw blood, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t care.  I now had worries far greater than fainting from a needle poke.

The moment I walked out of the double doors of his office, I burst into tears.  Real tears.  Not the bewildered, stunned, trying-to-suck-it-up and be tough tears I had while I was sitting across from the oncologist.  I hailed a cab while calling my mom to deliver the news.  I took the cab back to my office, swiped the credit card, my vision blurry from the tears I forcibly pushed the buttons on the pay screen and the screen froze.  My card didn’t go through and I gave the driver attitude when he snapped at me, so I forced a wad of cash into his hands and slammed the car door shut.  I sat down at my desk and slowly broke the news to anyone that inquired why I looked upset, that was not easy to do.  I ordered a ton of sashimi because damnit, it’s overpriced to get it delivered and I never normally did that but in the moment it didn’t matter.  At all.   Nothing seems to make me lose my appetite, not even a cancer diagnosis.  I soon realized that it was no coincidence that I randomly chose that general physician. Of the thousands in the massive city of New York, he just so happened to be friends with and work directly next door to an oncologist, specifically an oncologist who specializes in lymphoma and would take me under his wing to get all of my tests, surgeries, and treatment underway as quickly as possible.  

It was a significant day, a turning point in my life.  Suddenly I received an answer to what was wrong with me after months of uncertainty.  The following week I went to the hospital for a second biopsy and to have my port placement.  Little did I know that I would end up spending three weeks surrounded by numerous doctors, surgeons and nurses while having surgeries on my heart (pericardial window) and lung areas and spending plenty of time in the CCU and ICU.  I had to receive my first chemotherapy treatment immediately after getting my official diagnosis from the second biopsy (which ended up being Stage IV non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma) because not another day could go by and there was no time to waste.  God is an excellent planner, I can say with absolute certainty that The Lord carried me through those three weeks, giving me the strength to be in ‘fighter-mode’ and survive the pain and torture I went through.  I honestly look back now and cannot imagine enduring all that I went through there, I do not know how else to explain how I did it all, and with a smile on my face every single day.  Trust me, there were plenty of tears as well but I was in good spirits more often than not and I know for a fact it was not just the morphine helping.

This time of year is strange for me.  Although in a way this all seems so distant because I have moved on in my life, it all still seems so fresh in my mind.  I wake up every morning thanking God I am cancer free and I pray that I continue to stay in remission.  I am extraordinarily blessed to have survived this and that I had my family and friends supporting me every step of the way.  I grew closer to God and my faith became stronger.  The suffering endured has and will continue to teach and remind me of the way I want to live my life.  Not a day goes by that what I experienced crosses my mind, oftentimes bringing tears to my eyes.  Sometimes they’re tears of joy, sometimes they’re tears from anger and sadness that I even had cancer in the first place.  I probably look like an emotional basket case on the subway at times but the beauty of NYC is that you usually won’t ever see those same people again.  

Cancer did not so simply just vanish out of sight-out of mind once I finished chemotherapy.  I was so eager to move on with my life the moment I was told there was no evidence of disease left, and so I did just that.  It is liberating to no longer be constantly monitoring every ache and pain, dragging myself to doctors appointments, chemotherapy, and scans, continuously speaking about cancer and being ‘that girl with cancer’.  Suddenly I was dropped back into regular life but I wasn’t the same person as I was before, I had just been through a life changing experience, one that at many times was very traumatizing.  Navigating life after cancer is challenging, more challenging than going through the treatment itself, as crazy as that sounds. During treatment I was so focused on surviving and getting through the physical aspects of the treatment that I never took into account often enough how I felt.  It’s as simple as this - I’m happy it’s gone, I’m angry and sad at times it occurred.  Many times during and after treatment I couldn’t help but think “stupid, stupid cancer.  You almost took my life.  You took my hair.  I still feel like crap sometimes, probably from all of the chemicals I’ve been exposed to.  You made me vulnerable.  It could come back again.  Forever I will have to get scans and be reminded that I had you in the first place”.

This is why I have chosen to forgive cancer.  There are many sayings out there about how harboring unforgiveness is like drinking poison and hoping your enemy will die.  It does no good to hold onto bitterness, to have a grudge weighing you down.  Cancer is sad, it is grueling and terrifying, but it has been a phenomenal teacher that I have loved to hate and then learned to accept.  Every day is a fresh start, a new beginning.  I am excited to see what adventures lie ahead.  I have learned that you never know what can happen within one short year.  Thank you, cancer, for challenging me, scaring me, and showing me just how much of a badass I can be.  Even when I feel weak, I remind myself of how tough I was.  So cancer, I forgive you.  

A Year Ago Today

A year ago today I was in a state of complete shock.  It was almost as if I ended up in an oncologist’s office and a bombshell was dropped - I had cancer at 24-years-old.  

Oh wait, that really did happen.  It’s wild how clearly you can remember certain days of  significance with such recollection to every action, taste, thought, smell, conversation, text message, even the clothing on your back (yes, I remember the exact outfit I was wearing that day).  

On this day a year ago, I would have never been able to predict where life was going to take me for the next 365 days.  I didn’t even know if I would still be on this Earth, and believe me, that thought crossed my mind plenty of times last February.  

My hair is short, I’m covered in scars and I definitely don’t have it all together or figured out but I am here today, able to enjoy God, my family, my friends, and my health, and THAT is a gift.  It was one of the most harrowing days of my life, which means all the more reason to celebrate today.

I have so much more to say and not enough time to write it all this morning, which is why I will be parking myself with my laptop at the nearest coffee shop to catch up with one of the loves of my life - writing.  I hate writing in a hurry, I never can get my words out the way I want them to when I'm in a rush.  I also haven't had enough coffee to really make much sense, so..more to come later :)

Things I Have Realized Over The Past 365 Days

Things I Have Realized In The Past 365 Days

The phrases “Life is short” and "You only live once" are overused but so incredibly true.

Working seven days a week without ever taking a break surely drove me crazy.  Even if it was absolutely necessary in order to pay my rent to live in a closet-sized bedroom. Even if after my day job I’d go serve beer to drunk people in hopes that in their drunken state they would overtip me.  I always walked out with wads of cash.  I miss those wads of cash but I enjoy my sanity and ‘me’ time even more.

I could have never survived cancer without God, my family, my friends, genius doctors and cancer researchers.

I can handle going through four surgeries within two months as long as I’m knocked out with the good stuff and given morphine afterwards.  I also learned that it’s probably a good idea to not text people after being given morphine.

if you want something so badly and it’s meant to be, you will receive it.  God knows the desires of your heart.

Eating pork bao's, maple walnut gelato, margherita pizza, grilled calamari, Mr. softee ice cream with rainbow sprinkles, bagels with lox, oysters and many other delectable delights may not solve all problems but they sure do help!

I could handle facing my biggest fear, needles, on a daily basis.  Exposure therapy may work for some people’s phobias but not for me with needles.  I’ve accepted the fact that I’m still a total whimp about them and will probably faint and/or throw up if you even TALK about getting blood drawn.

I’m not afraid of tattoo needles, obviously.  I just got my seventh one and it rocks.

That this little thing called R-CHOP could competely destroy my lymphoma and give me my life back all within one year.

I still need to learn how to relax and not constantly be doing something.  Wait, you mean I’m not lazy if I decide to one day to skip doing my laundry, grocery shopping, working out, etc?  One day I will learn this, one day.

No matter how much I attempt to overcome my walking rage, I just cannot.  Walking rage is the road rage of NYC.  

That I forgot how much I love to write.  I am so happy that I rediscovered my love for putting words together, it has been the best therapy.

I have had the opportunity to spend more time with my family this year than I have in years.  I am truly grateful for that.

Facing the possibility of death makes you think about life in a much broader sense than you’d ever expect.  I haven’t gotten it all figured out, but has anyone?  

Somehow I managed to shave my head.  I had no choice because my hair was coming out in clumps, but seriously, I SHAVED MY HEAD!

I am a better runner now. I am running faster and longer distances than I did before I became sick.

I just re-joined the gym and realized that I look really badass lifting weights with my short hair.

A bone marrow biopsy without any sedation is so unbelievably painful that I would suggest the U.S government use this as a torture tactic.  I was probably thisclose to breaking the nurses hand from squeezing it so hard as my very attractive oncologist shoved a huge needle into my hip bone.

That I am most likely very radioactive after having countless CT scans, PET scans, MUGA scans, x-rays, and receiving chemicals intravenously.   The other day I was standing directly in front of the microwave reheating my coffee, knowing it’s not the best idea but then realized that compared to everything else I’ve been exposed to, it’s probably the least of my worries.  Someone should create a radioactive chemo superhero, like some cute gal in a comic book that is immune to radiation or something :)

I can somehow endure living in a hospital for three weeks straight.  At least my body chose a good month to really fail me - February.  Who wants to go outside in that kind of weather anyway?  If this had happened in June then that’s another story!

I probably endured living in the hospital for three weeks straight because some of my doctors were really attractive.  There’s nothing better than waking up from a Klonopin induced half-sleeping state while wearing my uber sexy hospital gown to have a hot doctor asking me if my nausea is under control.  Okay, there are better things, but at the time the hot doctors really made my day.  

I became BFF with my wig.  My hair is long enough to not wear one now but I just feel like ME with it on.  Maybe one day I will like having short hair, but probably not.  I will probably never be one of those people proud to rock the short ‘do.  Sorry I’m not sorry!  I just don’t like short hair on me.

A year ago I would’ve never thought that my NYE preparations this year would involve getting my wig washed.  Yet here I am, writing this at a coffee shop down the street from the salon as I wait for my wig to be finished.

I have to end this list now because I’ve been hogging this seat at the coffee shop for two hours now and I’m afraid of the angry stares I’ll get from the owner unless I buy another coffee.  I can’t drink anymore coffee because of over-caffeination, so for that reason, I must go!

Happy New Year to all of you!  Drink lots of champagne, kiss your lover, your dog, your best friend, the random stranger at the bar, whoever at midnight, and celebrate a new year filled with new opportunities and adventures!  You only live once, right? ;)

It's Not You, It's Me

On top of the world - Shenandoah Mtns.

Dear blog, please be assured that it’s not you, it’s me.  Life can get busy and things such as writing can get put on the back burner sometimes.  Do not take it the wrong way though, I still love you dearly.  

This past Saturday was exactly one year ago that I had my first CT scan.  I was terrified.  Not because I thought I was sick (because at the age of 23 I surely thought there was no way I’d have cancer, this scan I felt was more of an inconvenience than anything else then) but because I would have to get an IV.  I was such a needle amateur back then that the mere thought of one made me panic.  Actually, I still panic at the thought of one but I am more used to it now.  The nurse most likely assumed I was insane as I hyperventilated and broke out in a cold sweat when she sat me down to give me the IV.  I will never understand how someone does that for a living without getting queasy.  Just like how I will never understand how people eat cottage cheese and enjoy it, or watch Dancing With the Stars and enjoy it?  I sat there in the waiting room with a piece of plastic sitting in a vein the crook of my arm for over five hours.  I wasn’t allowed to eat until after the test and the protein bar in my purse started to sound as delicious as a plate of nachos.  Of course Judge Judy was playing on the fuzzy television screen because who doesn’t like to watch a woman take her ex-husband to court for running over her cat before having a CT scan? Certain hospitals, such as one that starts with a B and ends with a ELLVUE, like to test not only your blood but also your patience.  I believe that is the reason behind waiting over five hours for a ten minute scan.  Afterwards I went with my friend Jessica to get something to eat. Well, more like devour because I had not eaten the entire day so an entire plate of hummus and chips was consumed within five minutes.   We had a couple of drinks and then I went to my waitressing job exhausted and worn out from the day, but just going about my normal life.  That is what I did for the next three months, I went about my normal and busy schedule because I had yet to be diagnosed as none of the doctors seemed to be concerned.    

Now here I am one year later truly enjoying Autumn without that air of uncertainty suffocating me. I adore Fall in New York City.  This past weekend I wandered the streets of SoHo and ran through Central Park taking in the beauty of the leaves changing color.  I felt like I was on a movie set because the vibrant colors combined with the crisp weather were absolute perfection.  The trees are enchanting basking in the sunlight against the blue sky backdrop but I enjoy them just as much at night because they glow under the store and restaurant lighting.  The red leaves are glowing ember, the yellow are neon lit.  The delicate leaves that have parted ways with the branches are strewn along the sidewalks as if they were placed there purely for decoration.  You can call me a tree-hugger, I won’t be offended.

I do not know how this happened but somehow Thanksgiving is next weekend.  The older I get, the quicker time passes by.  Other than consuming three days worth of calories in a matter of hours (which I cannot wait to do, bring on the stuffing, baby!) Thanksgiving is also the day we focus on what we are thankful for and I can say with great certainty that this Thanksgiving I have A LOT to be thankful for, stuffing included.  Really though, I am thankful for more than I could have ever imagined just one year ago.  Last Thanksgiving I did not know what journey I was soon going to be taken on.  Life has been wonderful to me lately.  Let me tell you, God pays you back double for your trouble.  Sometimes it is not in the way or the timing that you expect, but He does.  The PET scan I had a month ago came back clean so now I am 5 months in remission.  Nineteen more months to go until the chance of relapsing is significantly lower.   I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry occasionally about it coming back.  It also still completely freaks me out to know I received these intense drugs a total of six times, who knows what kind of long term effects those can have?  However, I tell myself it’s not welcome back.  That’s right lymphoma, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Very recently I landed an incredible job, truly my dream job.  I spent one Saturday night in October being really wild and crazy having a coffee drinking party at one of my favorite cafes. Only myself and my laptop were invited, it was an exclusive event.   Actually, I spent a lot of weekends glued to my computer in September and October because I so badly wanted to find a job that I loved, particularly in the food industry.  One where I could put all of my enthusiasm and energy to use.  This job is inspiring, it’s exciting, and I couldn’t ask for anything better.  I work with great people and I’m surrounded by countless opportunities.  When I was going through treatment,  chemo was always on a Monday.  After I finished chemo I promised myself that I would never wake up on a Monday morning again with dread.  I’ve stood by that promise, I am happy to wake up on Mondays!

I read a quote the other day from the lovely Kris Carr, “Life is meant to be sweet and savory, bitter and sour, and you deserve to enjoy every morsel of it.”  That phrase really stuck with me, not just because it compares life to tasting and eating (because c’mon isn’t that one of the best things about living is eating?!) but because life as varying everyday. You will have your good days, you will surely have your bad days, but you are always given a choice to savor your day.  I have been busy savoring my life.  At least trying to do so as much as I can - there’s only so much to savor when I have a headache or am paying my bills.  That’s life though, not every single moment is going to be exciting or fun.  I am learning that the key here is balance.  I used to live my life with such repetition and it left me feeling uninspired and worn-out.  I love to push myself and work hard but I never rewarded myself for my efforts.  It was always this “keep on trucking” mentality, like if I took a day off out of the seven days I used to work then I was being lazy.  Do I sound crazy?  It must be something about living in New York City, it’s always go go go.  I often notice how fast I am walking, weaving in and out of the foot traffic on the crowded city sidewalks getting frustrated with the slow walkers (the tourists in search of the nearest T.G.I Fridays) and then I realize that I am in a hurry for absolutely NOTHING.  I am practically running to my favorite cafe in a way that you would think I was going to win a pair of Louboutins if I got to my destination in ten minutes instead of fifteen minutes.  I probably won’t give that habit up anytime soon because let’s be honest - I secretly love the challenge of walking fast through crowds, probably the same way a fast driver speeds on the highway weaving through the other cars.  That feeling I would not know though, driving is not my forte.  Don’t ever let me borrow your car or drive you anywhere.

In-between this constant all work and no play lifestyle I used to live, I was craving more space for myself and time for fun.  I love to have fun, I always want everything to be fun because life should be enjoyed, but I certainly wasn’t acting on it.  Now I attempt to always include at least one fun thing in my day everyday to break up routine.  I always roll out of bed after hitting the snooze button about five times and then I partake in my usual morning routine of making my green juice while simultaneously watching a segment on the Today Show about “how to eat fast food and not get fat” or “why sperm banks are turning down red heads” or something along those lines, and putting on my makeup.  Once I am on the subway I ask myself (not out loud though, there’s enough people talking to themselves here) what kind of day I want to have and what approach I want to take. I always feel it’s important to check in on myself every once in a while and identify what I’m feeling and why I may be feeling a certain way.  It is easier to change my mindset that way and focus on something positive instead of getting caught up in my own thoughts of worry, stress, and all of those other disconcerting feelings.  

Whether my day is sweet or sour, I'll be hungry for life. 

50/50

I am tired and I should be sleeping right now so forgive me in advance for my poor grammar, punctuation, and overall rambling that probably doesn’t make much sense.  

I have been anxiously waiting for the movie 50/50 to hit theaters and tonight I finally got a chance to see it.  I am not a movie person. I love to watch movies but I don’t necessarily go out of my way to see many of them and I have no intention of writing any type of fancy detailed review.  Just go see the movie - I promise you will love it.  It was fantastic and incredibly realistic.  I loved that it showcased what living with cancer is like for someone in their twenties.  It was serious enough where it was very realistic but it also included plenty of humor.  The screenplay was by Will Reiser, who dealt with cancer himself just a few years ago.  All of the details were spot on and I could relate to almost all of the scenarios that played out.  The way his oncologist told him his diagnosis was so matter-of-fact by himexplaining his chemotherapy regimen as if it was just an easy and simple routine.  That is exactly how it is, the moment they utter the words “you have cancer”, you fall into a complete state of shock and disbelief.  They describe everything to you in such a casual manner because they do this for a living and they break news like this to people constantly.  You’d think they were discussing with you the score of a Yankee’s game.  The movie also focuses on the funny things that people say when they find out you have cancer because they have no idea what else to say to you.  I don’t blame them, it’s an uncomfortable conversation to begin with.  “My mom’s friend (who’s 30 years older than you) had (insert a cancer you don’t have) and she’s fine now!” “My grandmother had cancer...she died” “You’ll lose your hair but look on the bright side, you’ll get NEW hair!” 

Every time they showed IV’s and needles I found it amusing to hear the crowd’s groans of disgust.  I used to not be able to look at things like that either but now it doesn’t phase me.  Watching the surgery scene really resonated with me.  Every little detail was so true to what it’s really like to lay on that stretcher - from signing the consent form and speaking to the anesthesiologist hoping they don’t accidentally kill you, to getting rolled into that insanely brightly lit and sterile operating room, slowly fading out of reality for an hour or two.  At one point he’s laying there after surgery high on morphine.  I certainly haven’t forgotten that experience and the weird text messages I sent to people.

Very often throughout the movie his response to everyone when asked how he was doing was “I’m fine”.  This I really loved because I recall myself saying the same kind of thing.  Sometimes when people asked how I was doing it was too exhausting to really tell them how I was doing so a simple “I’m fine” or “I’m good” always worked.  Honestly if I were to have really answered that question all the time I could have gone on forever.  “I’m fine, really I’m holding up well but at the same time I’m also bald, covered in scars, recovering from surgery, not able to completely live a normal life of a 24-year-old and I'm receiving chemotherapy so yeah, I guess I am as fine as I can be right now?” I was so happy that in one scene he had a freak-out, angry, nervous breakdown moment.  For the most part I feel as though many cancer patients, myself included, try to stay calm and do what is needed to survive.  However, there always comes a point where you get so angry, pissed off, and frustrated that you just cannot take it anymore.  You're sick and tired of it all.  I can’t even count how many freak out moments I had but there were plenty.  You know that saying “if I had a dollar for every time...”? Let’s just say I’d be really rich by now.  I got choked up and either cried or laughed throughout the entire movie, but that means it was a really great movie.

In other news I have a PET scan on Monday.  I wasn’t supposed to have one until my 6 month check-up in December but two weeks ago I was experiencing extremely painful chest pains.  They were so horrible that the vicodin I was taking was equivalent to popping tic-tacs because IT DID NOTHING.  Thankfully the pain is practically all gone now but my oncologist wants to do the scan anyway.  I am not nervous about it, it’s more of an annoyance than anything else.  It means that tomorrow I can’t eat any carbs, oh the horror.  Also, I’ve become so acquainted with my morning green juice but now my Monday morning breakfast will consist of a mocha flavored barium milkshake with a side of radioactive tracer pushed into my veins.  Better to be safe than sorry :)

You know what is way more awesome than getting a PET scan though?  Running 4 miles non-stop around Central Park!

A Hairy Situation

I surprised myself.  Who am I and how did I just do that without losing my sanity?  Those were the exact thoughts running through my mind from the moment I woke up on the day I shaved my head until that blade making its final swipe across my head, lopping off the remnants of my hair.  I was not as sad as I thought I was going to be - it was almost a thrill, it was excitement. It’s very possible that the lemon drop shot I took with my mom and sister at the pub next door from the hair salon before I finally bid farewell to my locks had somewhat helped.  When it was time to finally shave my head, my hair was no longer ‘my’ hair, it had turned into a big dread-like mass of hair like it was already dead.  It was necessary to shave it, I couldn’t take the torture of attempting to brush my hair, which lead to the dwindling of my once long hair, any longer.  When the hairstylist put the wig on my head and uncovered the mirror, I loved it, but it was strange.  It felt like there was a different person staring back at me in the mirror.  A very blonde person with straight, long hair. I have always had long blonde hair, but not like this.

If I was going to have to lose all of my precious hair, I was going to make up for it in the best way possible.  This meant I had to find my dream hair – the hair I’ve always wanted to have but never did because I was too busy abusing it with a flatiron and blow dryer.  While lying in my hospital bed fully anticipating the looming hair loss, I would fantasize about finding a wig that not only looked realistic but was also long, thick, blonde, and straight.  I wanted Barbie hair because I could.   I had to have fun with it, as much fun as I could possibly have while my hair began to shed the same way a golden retriever sheds when it brushes against your leg leaving you with a trail of blonde hairs on your once spotless black pants.  Except in this case it was me shedding on myself, all over my black sweater, my pillowcases, and yes, even in my food.

After the head shaving party, we headed to Pastis for lunch.  The crowd is everything you would expect it to be in the Meatpacking District. It was packed full of Europeans with shopping bags and slender Gucci-clad women savoring two bites of their steak frites before pushing it out of the way so the calories don’t attack their figures.  This is not the place to go when wearing a wig for the first time. In fact, do not go anywhere overly crowded where paranoia may creep upon you.  It felt as if everyone had their eyes on me, like they all knew with such certainty that I was wearing a wig.  It was like a bad dream, the kind of dream when you somehow forget to wear clothes to school and everyone is staring at you, obviously, and all you want to do is just want to run away and hide.  It truly felt like everyone was staring at me but they weren’t.  Now anywhere I go it never even crosses my mind that people would even suspect that it’s a wig.  Whenever I’ve told people I do not know that it’s not my real hair they felt shocked and I felt relieved they never had a clue.

No one knows what wig paranoia feels like unless they experience it themselves.  Wearing a pink wig dressed as Britney Spears as a psychiatric patient on Halloween does not count.  Of course it took some time to get acquainted with ‘wearing’ my hair instead of having it growing from my head but eventually it felt natural.  For the first few months I would never leave the house without applying the heavy duty double sided wig tape.  This tape is intense and it can ruin your $15 manicure in a matter of seconds.   For quite a few weeks, when I was still getting acquainted with the wig, I would just stare at it perched on a Styrofoam head in my room with such dread, I was scared and intimidated by it.  It was like my enemy,  taunting me, “wear me!  Do you want to walk around bald or do you want to at least PRETEND like you have hair?”  Often I opted for wearing a scarf when I ran errands because at the time it was easier than putting the tape on and placing it in the exact spot every time.  Wearing a scarf I didn’t have to worry about it slipping off with a gust of wind because I was already showing the world “yes, I am in fact bald” instead of a wig which says “I am bald but I am pretending that I am not”.  I clearly remember my hairstylist who sold me my wig telling me that eventually I would feel so at ease wearing my wig, that putting it on my head would feel natural and it would stay in place.  I shook my head “uh-huh okay” not believing a word out of his mouth.  Maybe he was just trying to make me feel better, I thought. I was wrong.  It feels tremendously natural to me now.   I throw the wig on with no tape and have no worries of it ever looking fake or falling off. Not once has my wig even come close to falling off so either I am extremely lucky or my hairstylist was right.  I later realized that wig was going nowhere.  Unless I was standing outside in the middle of a hurricane, my wig was going to stay put.  It used to feel heavy, like I had a blanket covering my head.  My neck would hurt from me attempting to not move my head around too much.

When we arrived back at my apartment after lunch, I threw a temper tantrum to my mom and sister.  I felt like a crazy person – crying, yelling, complaining, and hating cancer and everything that came along with it.  I was suddenly flooded with anger and dissatisfaction.  When the hairstylist first placed it on my head that day everyone was giving me such positive feedback about how realistic and pretty it looked, and I truly appreciated it.  However, when I got home and stared at myself in the mirror alone, and I mean REALLY stared, it became so clear to me how angry I really was.  The frustration began to build because I had no choice. My hair was not coming back any time soon because it was completely shaven off and long gone.   When I get angry, I give myself some time to be really pissed off but I only allow so much time to wallow in self pity.  Was I going to ruin the rest of my day by being angry about my hair loss?  I could have, but that takes a lot of effort and I was too busy being angry with the fact that I had a life threatening illness.  Instead, I decided to be daring and take the wig off so that I could stare at my shiny, bald little head in the mirror.  When I am scared of something, I force myself to face it - or rather, sometimes I am forced to just do it.  Take for example learning how to give myself those blood thinner shots.  I dreaded the thought of giving myself a shot every night but I had to do it, I had to get it over with.  I still do those shots every night and I still despise them, but I do it. I let the needle hover over my stomach until I finally get the courage (or just get so sick of lying there pinching the skin on my stomach) to jab the syringe into my skin.  When one goes skydiving for the first time, I imagine it takes an overwhelming urge to just get the jumping out of the plane over with to finally free fall into the open sky.  So there I stood in front of my mirror nervously laughing with my mom and sister, as I ever so slowly and dramatically peeled the wig off my head.  I quickly glanced in the mirror, gasped and laughed, and then abruptly turned away.  It wasn’t that I hated what I saw in the mirror, it’s just that it was such a shock to see my head which was once full of hair completely naked.  I felt like I looked like an alien or a baby.  My sister said I looked like a badass, I can definitely agree with that.  I had the G.I Jane look going on and I thought it would be funny to walk outside completely bald because I looked like such a “badass”.  Then I realized that although I had a badass shaved head, I was still not scary or intimidating looking, I just looked like nice Rachel with a shaved head.  A few minutes later I faced the mirror again and this time I looked, I really looked, and examined it while placing my hands all over my bald head – which actually felt pretty awesome.  Not many women will ever feel their head completely bald, so I tried my best to look at it as an interesting opportunity, even if I was forced into it. Now that my hair is growing back, it already is hard to remember exactly what it felt having a bare head.  The first time I took a shower it felt so insanely different but it did save me a lot of shampooing.  Whenever I am getting ready for work or going out I have it easy, no blow drying and no hair straightening needed – I just throw on my perfectly styled hair and I am ready to go.  I now realize just how easy guys have it when they are getting ready because they do not have to worry about styling their hair.

 Despite the fact that I had fresh scars complete with stitches still intact from surgery hidden beneath my clothing and a chemo port implanted beneath my skin, I looked like any other human being walking around without cancer.  My eyebrows and eyelashes had a 50/50 chance of falling out and I just so happened to win that game of roulette.  This wig looked stunningly perfect – a shiny substantial amount of hair with, the ideal shade of blonde that maybe 1% of the population naturally possesses.   It was also the perfect illusion of real hair growing out of my head.  This illusion brought about a plethora of comments and questions from strangers which were followed up with me telling some kind of lie. The most common question, “Your hair is so blonde, is that your natural color?”  I hate to lie but I also hate making people feel uncomfortable so my tactic was to answer the question quickly with an “Oh no, it’s not, but thanks for the compliment!” and then swiftly change the subject.  Now if I had responded with an “Oh no, this is actually a wig, I am bald because I have cancer” to a complete stranger ,then I think it would make them feel just a tad bit awkward, they would probably regret even asking in the first place.

What I have gotten a kick out of the most is when I am walking down the street and some guy on the sidewalk makes a comment, trying to hit on me.  All I could think in my head was “this guy has no idea I am actually bald. What if I ripped my wig off my head at this very moment?  That would be hilarious, yes I think it’s a great idea, I mean really – what a great story he can tell people later on in the day!” Because as you know, every love story begins with a creeper making comments to the girl who is minding her own business while rushing to the subway in the morning so she’s not late to work.  All women know how it goes – you are walking on the sidewalk in your own world with your headphones in your ears, sunglasses on your face (this is also known as the “don’t talk to me, I’m listening to music/wearing sunglasses on purpose look”) when you suddenly feel those eyes so obviously glaring at you as you wait for the predictable comment which comes approximately 5-10 seconds after you are in their general line of vision.

I forget what it feels like to have long hair.  I can barely recall what it’s like to firmly grasp my hair and tie it up into a ponytail before going on a run.  Washing long hair feels so foreign to me.  Sleeping with long hair feels like a distant memory.  My hair and I are on a long hiatus and as much as I’ve had a love/hate relationship with my wig, I have gotten past that.  I now love my wig and I don’t plan on ditching it any time soon.  Unless I accidentally wear it outside during the hurricane this weekend that is.

Just A Reminder For Life

I actually wrote this yesterday but never got around to posting it...

It’s a beautiful day in New York City.  The sun is shining bright and there’s a slight breeze.  The temperature is not too hot, not too cold – it’s so ideal that if it were measured based on the PH scale it would be a neutral seven. Does that comparison even make sense? I don’t know, I am just trying to get the point across that the weather is absolutely perfect today.  Instead of sitting in the frigid air conditioned office, I headed outdoors for my lunchbreak.  I decided to walk to a store about a mile away that sells this phenomenal tofu sandwich.  No, that’s not a mistake having the words “phenomenal”and “tofu” together in a sentence – this sandwich rocks my world!  Not only is today beautiful but it’s also been exactly one month since I have been officially declared ‘cancer free’ or NED (no evidence of disease).  I love NED, he’s a hottie.  It's a one month anniversary, this gives me the excuse to drink champagne, correct?

As I was walking, weaving my way through the people scattered throughout the sidewalk, I realized that I was walking the same path I used to walk months ago when I was going to Bellevue Hospital trying to find out what that huge lump on my collarbone was.  Every couple of weeks I would throw on my heavy jacket and wooly scarf, face the winter temperatures, and head east across the avenues – Broadway, 6th, 5th, Madison, Park, Lexington, 3rd, 2nd, and finally 1st.  Once I made it to 1st avenue somewhere in the 20’s, I would hesitatingly stroll into the hospital knowing very well I was about to encounter frustration, anxiety, and most likely a needle or ten.  For a couple of months I would go there for random appointments, CT scans, follow-ups, needle biopsies, a biopsy that they forgot about one time and couldn’t fit me in that day and I ended up fainting from blood work instead, and then one more biopsy.  It was downright depressing because I would go there hoping for an answer (and a good answer like I had an infection) and I would leave so puzzled and distraught with no answer at all.  The incompetent doctors there were poking and prodding me like they were playing that board game Operation and every time it would buzz it meant another doctor was just so stumped and his answers and conclusions were all wrong.  You look healthy and you're young, it's probably nothing.  Which lymph node am I removing from your neck again?  What's your name?  Oh, you've been here before?

Although I walked down those same streets, in the same direction – it was different.  The clouds had dissipated and I was left standing in the sunlight, except the clouds took months to finally disappear.

I know I compare and contrast a few months ago to the present pretty often, but it’s to always remind myself to appreciate my life now and the fact that I am alive and well – I made it through.  Walking outdoors today I was reminiscent of the feelings of overwhelming joy I had exactly a month ago being told I was cancer free.  I never, ever want to forget what I felt like on that day, so I will hold onto it forever. Always be thankful for your health and always remind yourself of one of your most beloved days and hold onto it. As time passes by you may forget how you felt on a special day you had, or you don't think about it too often, but give yourself a little gift and remind yourself constantly.  Then, look forward to all of the special days you have ahead of you.  It's easy to capture memories with photographs but nothing compares to remembering how you actually felt in that very moment that came and went so quickly.