tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70856537489544057562024-03-05T21:07:40.192-05:00there is optimism in cancer"The greatest discovery of our generation is that human beings can alter their lives by altering their attitudes of mind. As you think, so shall you be." -William Jamesgraceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-64557464391833624932011-10-23T16:03:00.006-04:002011-10-23T20:38:50.568-04:00the 'difficult patient'as those of you who have followed this blog know, in august i started my clinical internship in inpatient oncology. while i've been dabbling in the outpatient setting, this has been my first true immersion in the fast paced, multi-disciplinary medical setting that is inpatient work. and, since the first day, something has really stood out...that there seems to be a troubling habit of using the phrase 'difficult patient'. as a social work intern, i have the honor and privilege of being referred to most of those 'difficult patients'...and, almost always, they are my absolute favorite patients. while i could tell you all of the reasons these individuals are particularly endearing, the point i want to make is that there really is no such thing as a 'difficult patient', just difficult situations.<br /><br />there are many reasons patients develop 'difficult' behaviors...fear, lack of understanding, exhaustion, fear, a traumatic history, and in the case of cancer patients...fear. imagine, for a moment (and if you've had cancer, this will be an easy exercise), being brought to the hospital suspecting you have a cyst only to go into surgery and find out your body is covered with tumors from your metastatic pancreatic cancer and you only have six months to live. or, being driven six hours by ambulance from a rural town to a city hospital, with no family or friends (and no way to contact them), being told you have a cancerous tumor and need to make a decision to consent to surgery, even though your intellectual capacity doesn't allow you to fully understand what's happening to you. might you be frightened? want more time to talk to your doctor and understand? want the whole world to slow down while you come to terms with what you're being told? me too.<br /><br />let's face it...being diagnosed with cancer (or any other illness, i'm sure) is traumatic, and none of us are truly prepared to deal with it. some people are fortunate to have resources to utilize during these times. personally, as a patient, i had the luxury of time (my diagnosis took almost two months), supportive doctors who spent all the time with me i needed, the support of family and friends, and a graduate level education to help me understand and engage in decision making. i know these things, especially in combination, are uncommon. take away any, or all, of these things and i, too, may have been a 'difficult patient' (and my doctors may argue i was...i did refuse necessary surgery for a good couple weeks). and, let me assure you, i did everything in my power to be a 'good patient' - sometimes at the cost of not asking the questions i had, expressing my hesitations, or telling people how crappy i really did feel (i had the 'easy' chemo, and the 'good cancer' after all) for fear of being seen in any negative light.<br /><br />when we are able to put ourselves in these patients' shoes for just a moment, we may be able to empathize enough to hold short of telling our colleagues that the patient in whatever room is 'difficult'. i know that medical professionals are overworked, and trying in their own ways to survive the really intense nature of their work (perhaps especially in oncology), often by using humor or even detaching completely from patients. i get it, we all need to get through the day, and i'm not going to pretend i'm never guilty of getting really frustrated with a patient and not being able to give it everything i've got. all i'm saying is that, perhaps, we all owe it to our patients to change our language just a bit. we don't even have to eradicate the word, just apply it to what it really is...a difficult situation, not a difficult patient.<br /><br />because one day, we too might just find ourselves in the midst of a diagnosis, totally overwhelmed with fear, wishing time would stop and decisions would come easy...and at that moment, i bet we would appreciate if we're not treated as difficult patients, but wonderful people in a very difficult situation.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-50937540343957695162011-06-13T10:04:00.002-04:002011-06-13T10:20:40.302-04:00the myth of the 'good cancer'i hear this all the time...'oh, you had hodgkin's? that's the good cancer', or 'that's a good cancer to have if you have to get cancer'. sure, hodgkin's is very treatable, and in many cases it's curable...but does that make it a 'good cancer'? if you ask me, there is no good cancer.<br /><br />how do we define 'good cancer'? by those that can be cured? easily treated? removed surgically? i can only speak from my own experience, and draw from the experiences of warriors and survivors i've worked with - but, i'd say that no cancer is good. in my case, chasing a cure meant seven months of chemotherapy treatments every other week followed by three and a half weeks of daily radiation. i lost my hair, i got really sick, i chose to have treatments at twenty four that will certainley impact my life in the long term - if i'm lucky enough to get there. and, sure, i did well...but i personally know people who haven't responded to treatment and gone on to a stem cell transplant, and i also know people who haven't responded to the transplant and are living from clinical trial to clinical trial...and those who have passed away. so, no, i don't think this is a good cancer...not even a little bit.<br /><br />and what about the emotional aspect? forget the physical curability of the disease. i don't know anyone who has been diagnosed with cancer (good cancer or bad cancer) who doesn't struggle with the emotional burden of the illness. the 'what if' every time we have an ache, pain or even the most mild night sweat. the constant nagging in the back of our minds for the rest of our life that we won't live forever. once you face cancer, you face death...and you can't come back from that, you're never, ever the same.<br /><br />really, i think what gets forgotten in this myth of the 'good cancers' are the patients. in the day to day oncology world it's easy to think that someone with a curable cancer is better off than someone with a terminal, metastatic cancer. and, sure, in terms of prognosis there's a definite difference...but who's to say that either patient is 'better off'? i have a brilliant professor and mentor who said 'it's not the event, it's the experience'...meaning, the way each individual experiences a traumatic event has nothing to do with the event itself, but it has everything to do with how that individual uniquely experiences the event. it's our responsibility as professionals, friends, caregivers and fellow survivors to treat each person as an individual. let that individual tell you how they feel about their situation, and don't let the diagnosis or the stage of their cancer on their chart determine how you perceive their situation.<br /><br />telling someone they have a 'good cancer' effectively invalidates their entire experience. you leave that person thinking 'well if i have a 'good cancer', my fear must be irrational' or 'they think i'm making this up', or 'i should be grateful'. none of those things are true. our experiences are honest, and are to be validated for what they are. try to remember that regardless of what our perception is from the outside, each individual with a cancer diagnosis is facing one of their worst nightmares (if not their worst nightmare). each situation is a trauma, and each warrior deserves to be validated and allowed to feel whatever they are feeling.<br /><br />but, always have hope...if someone has a curable cancer, don't be afraid to use the word cure. don't be afraid to tell them you're hopeful. but, don't let that distract you from recognizing and validating the terrible, ugly and scary experience that the individual in front of you is having. and, please, don't ever tell anyone they have the 'good cancer' again.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-395348256390340272011-06-10T09:37:00.003-04:002011-06-10T16:33:41.742-04:00transition...as most of you who read this blog know, i started my master's in social work shortly following the end of my treatment. now being over a year out from the end of treatment and having a full year of my program under my belt i'm experiencing an identity shift. my cancer survivor identity is no longer my most salient identity, instead, it's slowing becoming integrated with my social work identity.... and, as i'm focusing all my efforts on oncology social work, it feels like a wonderful balance. i will never, ever let my survivor identity fade, but it's important to me moving forward to also allow my other identities their time in the spotlight. my survivor identity gives me motivation, drive, energy and a love and appreciation for life that i've never had. it makes me refuse to settle for anything...it allows me to brush off the small things in a way i never could...and, it gives me and my work purpose.<br /><br />but, i think my shift in identity is why i've had trouble writing here. my survivor identity is now integrated into a new chapter in my life - one where cancer isn't the main event (and i hope it stays that way). but, writing here is important for me...and i like to think it's important for others. i saw a brilliant speaker who was also a social worker/cancer survivor and she described herself as having a 'pathological need to help others'...ah, perfect, i'm not alone. this blog is important and therapeutic for me, but my life isn't about me...it's about giving to others and learning in the process.<br /><br />so, while i will continue to post here...i will focus my blog now on short little bits about life as a survivor, social worker and tireless advocate for everyone else touched by cancer. i'm intentionally not creating a new blog because i think it's important to integrate my personal history as a cancer warrior with my future. i don't hide it in practice, and i won't hide it here. it's part of who i am, and i'm darn proud of it. that said, when i have medical updates or anything comes up in my personal journey i will make sure i let you all know.<br /><br />i also need to say 'thank you' to everyone who has read this blog, who will read this blog, and those of you who leave comments or send messages. there is nothing more rewarding than knowing that by writing about my own experience i've given something to someone else. you are all wonderful and i look forward to continuing to share my new and exciting journey with you...whatever that ends up looking like.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-69790865751702466052011-04-29T13:57:00.004-04:002011-04-29T14:51:47.718-04:00life after treatment...yesterday was the one year anniversary of the end of treatment, which is a big deal in the cancer world. i intended, of course, to write this post yesterday...but nine hours of class put a hold on it until today.<br /><br />during diagnosis and treatment i remember thinking there was no life after treatment, that i would never have any normalcy in my life, and that i wouldn't be able to move on. i became so enmeshed in my cancer identity that i didn't know what else there was. and then i reached that traumatic and exciting day when i finished treatment. exciting for obvious reasons, but traumatic because i lost the safety of active treatment and seeing a doctor every week. so, what is life like after treatment, you ask? here's what it has been like for me....<br /><br />i won't sugar coat it, because i made a pledge to be honest here...those first few months were absolutely brutal. aside from the physical recovery, which in my case included life limiting fatigue, itchy skin, and a touch of shingles...there's the mental and emotional recovery. i was sad, i was anxious, i missed my doctors and nurses, i missed the attention, i missed the reassurance that i was fine, i hated people who pretended i was 'back to my old self' and acted like nothing ever happened (still hate this), i was afraid to plan for anything in the future - even a month away, i didn't see myself when i looked in the mirror, i wanted to ditch my wig but i hated the way i looked without it, i would get frustrated and cry sometimes because the recovery was so slow, and i just wanted to feel whole again. no one prepares you for this...the whole world expects you to be happy that you're done and move on. but, the moving on takes time. patience is probably the hardest thing during this time because we all just want to be 'normal' again...but, it's a process...and it gets better.<br /><br />so, so much better. now, a year out of treatment cancer isn't always the first thing on my mind. anxiety doesn't control me. i still have energy at ten o'clock at night. i think about the future every single day with excitement (and maybe a tiny twinge of fear that continues to fade). when i look in the mirror i see myself. i smile when i take a deep, unrestricted breath. i focus my health on exercise and eating well instead of surviving. i feel more whole than i've felt in a long time.<br /><br />but...one thing that has become more challenging is to remember my perspective. when i was going through diagnosis and treatment, i promised myself i would never, ever lose the perspective that i gained from the experience...that every day we wake up is a reason to be grateful, that life is a journey, that there's nothing that can compare to beating cancer, and that i have gotten so much more than what was taken from me. and it's not that i've <span style="font-style: italic;">lost</span> the perspective, but life can get crazy, and things can get overwhelming, and i have to make a conscious effort to pause and reflect when i find myself losing that perspective....<br /><br />...like the times when grad school gets overwhelming and i let everyone's stress get to me...i remind myself that the worst thing that can happen is i don't get my degree...life wouldn't end (as some of my classmates seem to believe)...<br /><br />...or the times when i complain about my hair, or get all worked up about how imperfect by body is...it's the reminder that i <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> hair, and that my body is healthy and that's all that matters...<br /><br />...or the moments when i realize i'm just going through the motions...and i remind myself that life is a journey, and we're responsible for making each moment what it is.<br /><br />i suppose that it's all part of the process...and the beauty is somewhere in the balance of perspective and tolerance. i imagine somewhere along this path i'll find that perfect balance, but for now, i continue to push forward and to take the experience for what it is...appreciating that all of this has become part of my journey, and there's meaning in every bit of it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">(and a full head of hair...check it out)<br /><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><div style="display: block;" class="vertbar"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeUT4Nw8Kv7owc3e1J_b_v6nPUNnWwnRaneHpMHFrWyJadpvN1924r9V2a6pgFPUIZY_vgEQDRs-FCtdbgNO88mQDnJijbg49_lNQiyGrg6am0CSJsvd_PpkpEsl5IhouS85-AGY2dLc/s1600/LukeandI.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeUT4Nw8Kv7owc3e1J_b_v6nPUNnWwnRaneHpMHFrWyJadpvN1924r9V2a6pgFPUIZY_vgEQDRs-FCtdbgNO88mQDnJijbg49_lNQiyGrg6am0CSJsvd_PpkpEsl5IhouS85-AGY2dLc/s320/LukeandI.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601079211670403522" border="0" /></a></div></span></div>graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-31434236122052248482011-04-26T09:27:00.005-04:002011-04-26T09:51:10.829-04:00'may i accept the journey for what it is, not what i think it should be'as the days in april wind down, i realize i owe an update here. i intended to write one after my visit to dana farber last month, but i never really got around to it. all went well - blood work was perfect, exam was fine, etc. i feel so grateful, but for some reason this visit just didn't put my mind at ease. to be honest, i've been struggling lately - to keep my mind off of the 'what ifs' and to find the same confidence i had before. i know this is part of the normal struggle, but it makes me feel weak. i've tried to decide where i want this blog to go now that i'm not updating every other week with my treatments, and when i posted honestly about how hard this all really is, there was an overwhelming response of those of you who have experienced it yourselves. so, i will continue to share my experiences, and be more honest than i've ever been....<br /><br />i've done a lot of reflecting on why i'm having such a hard time lately. maybe it's because i've been doing a lot of planning for the future, and i still have that moment of pause when i think 'what if?'. those moments are much less powerful now, but it's still there. or maybe it's because i'm always surrounded by cancer...in the support group i facilitate, in the work i'm doing professionally, and in the online forum i'm a part of. or, maybe it's because i'll be a year out of treatment this thursday - a huge milestone for us hodge warriors. or, maybe because i'm simply human. a human who's experienced something huge, life changing, and powerful.<br /><br />it's ironic, because i spend most of my time telling other cancer survivors that this is normal. i say it in my support group, i say it in my work, and i say it in almost every paper i write for school. but it's really, really hard to tell it to myself. to feel that this is normal, and that it will all pass, and you know what? i'll probably be fine. it's just been so permeating lately, more so than usual...and that's distracting.<br /><br />recently in my professional/student role i have been doing a lot of work on detecting psychosocial distress in cancer survivors (anyone who has been diagnosed). the topic came up about those who are harder to pick up because they minimize - they tend to say everything is just fine when it really isn't. they take on a heroic role because they feel as though they have to keep everyone going. somewhere in the middle of this discussion, i realized i knew a whole lot about these people without having read much on them in the literature. then, i paused. i'm talking about myself. i'm talking about all of us who say we're fine because we're afraid of letting those who love us know our fear...because we're afraid if we say it out loud it will define us...afraid of the stigma of needing help...afraid of being weak. such a pivotal moment for me to be able to step back and realize where i'm at, what i still need to work on for myself, and how i need to give myself a break....<br /><br />having cancer has brought such a richness to my life, to my relationships and to my career. i feel lucky to be alive every single day. i'm so passionate about the work i'm doing that it never, ever feels like 'work'. i've reached the point where i no longer question whether or not i'm capable of doing work with the oncology world - i know i am. having my moments of being sad and scared only make me more connected, more aware and more dedicated to help others through this. but, i'm going to have scary days, and sad days. mostly, though, i have good days - excellent days, even. the best days of my life.<br /><br />the other day in class we had to write mantras for a mindfulness exercise. i wrote 'may i accept the journey for what it is, not what i think it should be.' i have a lot more work left to do, but i know that realization is the first step to acceptance. so, onward with the journey...graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-43712488592225332762011-03-09T11:46:00.005-05:002011-03-09T12:18:33.874-05:00milestones.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuontB3MXTISSZPKwwBjAN04PBrr6nhhukpELYH7YGukffxi6JbKOmnzf37oYOpBkxC6PtLMzFMkkRbIiwVZ8iumZZ3loOOF58XB8lRbPXvXLTT-Y97IxJo5O-PWr0jSSIqBQphrYKv4Q/s1600/dad+me.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuontB3MXTISSZPKwwBjAN04PBrr6nhhukpELYH7YGukffxi6JbKOmnzf37oYOpBkxC6PtLMzFMkkRbIiwVZ8iumZZ3loOOF58XB8lRbPXvXLTT-Y97IxJo5O-PWr0jSSIqBQphrYKv4Q/s400/dad+me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582123211811026690" border="0" /></a><br />exactly one year ago today i sat in the treatment room and received my last infusion, marking the end of a long, treacherous journey through the world of chemo. <span class="messageBody">i was beaten down mentally and physically and couldn't even begin to envision what a year out from that day would feel like. today, just getting out of bed reminds me how wonderful life is, and how fortunate i am to be here to live it.<br /><br />and, i never imagined how emotional this day would be. i've been excited for it to come, because now i'm a year out of chemo...which is a huge milestone. the end of april will be the end of all of my treatments, which is a really, really big deal...but this is a huge day, too. but really what keeps getting me all choked up is thinking about the love and support i was surrounded with through the toughest time of my life, especially the three most important people in my world. so, this one is for them...<br /><br />dad...you are the best treatment buddy i could have ever, ever asked for. you faithfully came to every single appointment, scan, procedure and treatment i asked you to. and, you made it bearable to sit through three and a half hours of drugs being pumped into me. i remember looking up from my first biopsy and seeing you behind the glass with the doctor. you cheered me on when i was having my lung capacity tested. you made inappropriate jokes about marketing new products to cancer patients, and making me laugh uncontrollably when i just wanted to cry because i felt so sick. i remember the sheer joy on your face anytime we heard good news, and how many times you would repeat it just to hear it...which is exactly what i needed you to do. and i remember how terrified you were every single time you had to face any of it...but you did it because i needed you to, and i couldn't have done it without you.<br /><br />mum...there has never been anyone who i'd rather take care of me when i'm sick. i counted on you after every treatment to come check on me every hour, to be a phone call away when you were right downstairs but i didn't have the strength to bed out of bed, and to put up with my all over the place emotions. i counted on you to take me to the hospital for my surgeries, and to take me to get coffee and lunch after. i counted on you to take me shopping to get my mind off everything else. i counted on you to come running every time i yelled your name, even if i just wanted you to sit with me. you're the best mother and friend i could have ever asked for...and no one makes toast like you do.<br /><br />luke...there's something special about someone who asks someone out knowing they're in the middle of cancer treatment. and then someone who wants to spend the days after treatment with that person because 'it's about the bad days, too'. and, someone who can stand by another person through the good, bad, and the ugly. you came into my life at a time when i was struggling to make sense of everything, where i was having a hard time pushing forward, and where i just needed something to make it all worth it. you're my hero...you made me excited for every day, you gave me a reason to keep smiling, and you filled a hole in my life that i didn't even know existed. you are the best thing that's ever happened to me and you give my life a sense of purpose that makes it wonderful to just be alive.<br /><br />...there are so many things to be grateful for today, for my health, my progress and just for this day. i'm so blessed, and these words don't even do it justice.<br /></span>graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-14909267262041572072011-01-16T11:41:00.002-05:002011-01-16T12:25:58.461-05:00total, unfiltered honesty...the start of a new year is a huge milestone. this could be the first year in two years that i don't have cancer treatment. this is going to be the year i get married. this year is going to be a lot of wonderful things. this is also the year that i'm really going to start pushing myself to use my cancer experience for the better. i'll be starting a several week long support group facilitator training in a couple weeks, i'm going to join the buddy program, i've been asked to speak at the hospital ethics grand rounds, and i'm going to begin my oncology placement next fall, which i hope will be the start of a wonderful career.<br /><br />there is, however, a lot of work i need to do personally in order to be able to give fully of myself. i know that one of my biggest weaknesses is not being totally honest when things aren't positive. i have absolutely no trouble being positive with people, but i hold back from sharing frustrations, dissatisfaction and my struggles. this came up in my field placement this semester and taught me a huge lesson professionally. but, as i have learned, just about everything we learn in our program can be applied to our lives. and, as much as i hate to admit it, i have totally belittled the amount of struggle i have faced with cancer. partly to protect others from feeling sorry for me, or from worrying...but partly because it's how i coped.<br /><br />i'm so quick to tell other cancer warriors that they need to be honest about their struggles that i have forgotten to be honest about mine. so, i feel like i owe it to myself and to everyone else who has and will fight this battle to be honest. it may not be an inspirational or insightful post, but it's real, and it needs to be done...<br /><br />cancer is a huge deal. hearing cancer is one of the most frightening things i have ever experienced, but it was nothing compared to what came after that. physically, cancer is the worst thing i could ever imagine. i know it's not the worst thing possible, but it totally sucks. i always said 'it could be worse'...and, yes, it could be, and i feel fortunate that it wasn't. but, really, it was absolutely terrible. there was the pain when i was recovering from the various procedures before being diagnosed. the kind of pain where you can't take a deep breath without severe pain, can't sleep, can't raise your arms over your head, can't get dressed and can't function completely. then there was the constant sickness for months on end...the kind of sickness that brought me to tears on several occasions because i knew i just had to wait it out. it's like eating something that makes you violently ill, and so you never eat it again. except, i didn't have the choice to not do it again...i had to do it twelve times. each time knowing that i would get sick, and i'd stay sick for at least three days. some days i would just cry because i knew i still had a day to go and i wanted nothing more than to not be miserable. and to add insult to injury, i was losing more of my hair each time, i was so tired i couldn't do anything, and i was having a really hard time remembering what it was like to feel normal.<br /><br />but the physical struggles don't even compare to the emotional struggles. just wrapping your head around the idea that you have cancer, a disease that could kill you, in your mid-twenties (or at any age) is unimaginable. and that doesn't just fade. it doesn't matter how many times you're told you're doing well...once you've been hit with having to face your mortality, you're changed forever. there's all the 'why me', the survivor guilt, the fear of the unknown, and all of these things that just stay with you. while the rest of the world assumes that when you feel and look better physically that you carry on emotionally, they're wrong. sure, it might get a little easier to hide, and there may be more positive things happening in life to keep you smiling...but it still hurts, and it's challenging every single day. i still have moments where i'm ecstatic that i'm getting married in the fall...and then i stop and think 'what if my cancer comes back?', 'what if i have children some day and i can't be there to see them grow up?'. some of you who haven't experienced cancer are probably thinking 'you shouldn't focus on those things...you're doing well, you'll be fine'. that's the biggest challenge. those what ifs will always be there...it's not crazy for us to think about them all the time, in fact, it's totally normal for a cancer survivor to worry for the rest of their life about these things. it's all part of the process. but, it's emotionally draining to always have a nagging worry in the back of your mind. to live in a world where everyone expects you to be back to normal, and to be ecstatic about beating cancer. but, beating cancer is a long, long process. perhaps i've beat it physically, but every time i think about something scary, i realize i'm still fighting cancer on another level. it's coming to terms with the fact that i'll have to fight it for years...maybe for the rest of my life. and, that's alright. it is what it is, but i need to admit to myself that it's tough, that it's unlike anything i've ever dealt with before, and that it's valid.<br /><br />and while all of this may sound overwhelmingly sad, it's not. cancer is, in a weird way, the best thing that's ever happened to me. it's made my entire being more real. i appreciate everything in this world more than i ever have, and i have such a depth in every aspect of my life now. but, the beauty in life doesn't come without a struggle. i confront cancer on a daily basis, and while the physical healing has been relatively easy...the emotional healing is much, much more difficult. and i certainly wasn't doing myself, or anyone else, any favors by saying 'oh, it's not actually that bad'...because, you know what? it was...and i owe it to every warrior out there to be totally honest. and not just about the wonderful parts of this journey...graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-3280867582578210042010-12-22T10:50:00.003-05:002010-12-22T11:19:26.621-05:00snow, coffee, and an update...there are few things i love more than sitting around in the morning, drinking coffee and watching snow fall...it's just so peaceful, and a wonderful reminder of how beautiful the world is.<br /><br />i also owe you all (or those of you who still read this thing) an update. especially since i just had a really important visit at dana farber in boston. i went down just over a week ago for a scan, blood work and a visit with my oncologist. for those of you who missed it, i have decided to drive to boston for my follow up every three months...while it's a little out of the way, my oncologist there is totally worth it. she was telling me that she sometimes gets criticized by her colleagues for being too positive...clearly, that's why we get along so well. anyways...for the news you really care about. my scan was totally clean...my residual masses have shrunk about one centimeter in the last three months, and now measure 5x3.1cm...compared to 17x10x10cm at diagnosis...that's about a 70% reduction overall, pretty fantastic! and, it has continued to shrink, which is even better than just staying the same! blood work was excellent, and my exam was pretty stellar, too. the only odd thing i have left is a ringing in my ears that worsens with alcohol consumption. my oncologist has no idea and has never seen it before but thinks it may be because of the vinblastine (the V in ABVD). my pcp also had no idea, and they both suggested i could see an ENT, but i told them i'm all set with meeting any new specialists.<br /><br />so, health wise, life is good. in other news, we're planning our wedding, which is super fun! it's so nice to be looking to the future and having so many wonderful things happening. i really am so fortunate to be marrying my best friend...he's such a blessing in my life. i'm also currently on a two week break from all my responsibilities, which is a much needed mental break for me. no classes, no papers to write, no field placement hours to complete...just me and my own schedule. so nice.<br /><br />for those warriors still in treatment...just know that life does get better, and there is life after treatment, and it's fantastic! i don't like to say there's life after cancer, because i think cancer will always be a part of our lives (hopefully in a productive, remind us of our perspective kind of way).... but, i remember thinking that treatment would never end, and when it did, i remember thinking that my anxiety would never get better and i'd never have a 'normal' life again. i have no idea when life got back to a new normal, but it did...and while it'll never be the same again, i really do think it's so much better. the best advice i ever got, and that i always pass along, is to take it one day at a time and to not get too far ahead of yourself. i always say "if you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, eventually you'll get where you need to be". of course there are still struggles, but like anything else...once you've beat cancer, it feels as though there's nothing you can't do.<br /><br />i did have some more profound thoughts that i had intended to share, but those may have to wait for another day.... i will do my best to add some blog and coffee time into my schedule over the next few weeks. <span style="font-weight: bold;">happy holidays!</span>graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-56398124939304280072010-11-25T12:01:00.002-05:002010-11-25T20:18:10.717-05:00lots to be thankful for.last year, i wrote a post <span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span> of all the things i was thankful for (<a href="http://canceroptimism.blogspot.com/2009_11_01_archive.html">find it here</a>). i was certainly in a different place last year, and to be able to look back just makes me realize how much more i have to be thankful for this year. so, in starting a new tradition, here's what <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">i'm</span> thankful for this year...<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for life. </span>this one still tops the list. i have a unique opportunity at a young age to appreciate the fact that i wake up every day, to realize that life is delicate, and that none of us are promised tomorrow. i feel fortunate to get that, and to be able to live the rest of my life just being thankful to be here, to make new memories, and to enjoy the beauty of the world.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for love. </span>just over a year ago, i went out for coffee with a man who i knew instantly was meant to be in my life. he's my best friend, my greatest source of strength, and the best partner in life i could ever ask for. for those of you who don't already know...we got engaged last <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">friday</span>, and i could not be more excited. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">i'm</span> so fortunate to have him in my life, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">i'm</span> reminded of that every day.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for family. </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">i'm</span> blessed to have a loving and supportive family, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">i'm</span> blessed to be marrying into a family that i love. and, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">i'm</span> blessed that our families also adore each other. i know that's rare, and i feel very fortunate.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for friends and fellow warriors. </span>for those friends who stuck it out and proved what true friendship means. and, especially for those friends <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">i've</span> made along the way...my fellow warriors who serve as a constant reminder that life is beautiful, and it's our job to live it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for feeling healthy. </span>a year ago yesterday i had my interim PET scan that showed i was technically in remission. every day since finishing treatment <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">i've</span> felt better, and while i still struggle with some things...i feel better today than i have in years.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for modern medicine. </span>even though chemotherapy sucks, and radiation is no fun, seventy years ago everyone who was diagnosed with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">hodgkin's</span> would die. today, most are cured...and while i know too many who aren't, there are still options beyond a cure.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for being a student. </span>odd, eh? definitely thankful for the opportunity to pursue a career <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">i'm</span> excited about, and to be furthering my education. sure, it has it's moments, but it really is a wonderful thing.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for having hair. </span>and that it came back curly. and for having eyebrows. really, everything about this one is something to be so thankful for.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">for the cancer experience. </span>yea, i know it sounds odd.... and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">i'm</span> not thankful for the disease. the experience, however, shook up everything i knew, forced me to face things i never wanted to, and gave me an opportunity to learn about myself and life in a way that wouldn't have happened without cancer.<br /><br /><br />...the list really could go on. i just feel so fortunate this year. just to wake up every day, to be surrounded with love, and to be able to look forward. life is a beautiful thing, and if you don't stop and appreciate it...you'll miss everything.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-23519628671047164002010-10-31T17:04:00.001-04:002010-10-31T17:11:01.518-04:00october update.it's the last day of the month...so it's time for an update!<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">halloween</span> last year was a little rough...i remember getting treatment on that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">friday</span>, and all the nurses were dressed in costume. it was the first time i got really, really sick from treatment...so, i still have a little nausea thinking about that one. ugh. thank goodness for feeling healthy this year.<br /><br />life is fantastic right now...almost through my first semester in my MSW program (crazy), and have been fortunate to find my 'groove' with the work load, and don't feel stressed or overwhelmed anymore. and, it seems <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">i've</span> somehow avoided the chemo brain - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">i've</span> been able to pull all A's so far, which <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">i'm</span> pretty proud of. i was so sure <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">i'd</span> suffer from lasting chemo brain, but i decided to go for it anyways. aside from a little problem with my attention span (it almost feels like i have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ADHD</span>), i have no complaints of any cognitive difficulty. it's funny what you feel grateful for.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">i've</span> been networking with the oncology world up here, and plan to start shadowing the oncology social worker at the hospital, as well as the pain and palliative care social worker, and perhaps a few others. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">i'm</span> really nervous to find out where my own 'stuff' comes up, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">i'm</span> more excited than anything...and i know i have to manage this challenge before i can do good work on my own next year when i actually do my placement in oncology.<br /><br />life outside of school is wonderful, too. we've been enjoying the beautiful fall weather, and really taking in the beauty of the little things. apple picking, pumpkin spice lattes, the leaves changing, the crisp air...all things that remind me how beautiful life is. fall is by far my favorite season, and i feel fortunate to be able to take it all in this year. i even made my first apple pie (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">i've</span> always just aided my dad in making his)!<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">i'm</span> also learning a lesson in keeping perspective. once you've <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">received</span> a cancer diagnosis, your life is forever changed. but, once the physical battle is over, it's easy to fall back into a pattern of life and forget the perspective you promised yourself you'd hang on to for dear life once this was over. i have forgotten many times. mostly when i started school, and i was running myself into the ground trying to get all my work done...and then beating myself up when i couldn't. my stress level sky-rocketed, and i realized i wasn't really spending as much quality time with the ones i love...or taking time for myself. then, i reminded myself of what my priorities actually were. my health and my loved ones definitely come before school. it's not that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">i'm</span> not totally invested in school, because i am...it's just that i don't want to put so much into school that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">i'm</span> not living the life i want. lots of people have said..."well it's just two years and then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">i'll</span> get back to my life". what i realize, that most don't, is that we're not promised tomorrow, let alone two years from now. and, i get that in a way that's more real than i would have ever imagined. so, while so many people have put their lives on hold for the next two years...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">i've</span> decided to keep living. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">i'll</span> work hard and invest myself in my education and my career...but not to the expense of the rest of my life. i want to make sure that i can go to bed every night knowing that if i didn't have tomorrow, that i was happy with today. life really is one day at a time, and it's our responsibility to make sure that we live each day with that in mind. so, when i get stressed, or lose my perspective for a minute, i stop and remind myself where <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">i've</span> been...<br /><br />it's all about balance. and perspective. cancer warriors, always remember how lucky we are to have that.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-26812194882816020232010-09-30T20:26:00.003-04:002010-09-30T20:44:29.127-04:00trying to be where my feet are.holy moly! i can't believe it's been over a month since i wrote on here. and, truthfully, i have thought about it almost every day and felt guilty for not writing...but i'm just SO busy. and that's a very, very good thing.<br /><br />what's happened in the last month.... in the cancer side of my life, i passed some serious milestones. september 16th was a year since i was diagnosed, and september 25th was a year since i had my first chemo treatment. i passed both of them with less anxiety than i thought i'd have...but that's probably because i was too busy with school. i continue to feel amazing. i visited dana farber at the end of august, and was given a clean bill of health, and decided that's where i'll do all my follow up...for now. i had annual blood work with my primary care doc, and everything looked amazing. most exciting was my iron...when i was diagnosed my iron was 9 and my saturation was 4%. i was told it was anemia from the cancer, and once we treated the cancer, it'd correct itself. i guess i was doubtful, i didn't think it'd be that simple...but i guess it was. my iron is now 74 and 24% saturation. so crazy how the body works...it still amazes me.<br /><br />in my other life, things are wonderful. i started my masters in social work at the end of august, and while it's sufficiently kicking my butt, i love every second of it. between five classes, four days a week at my internship, and a research assistant position for some social work professors, i hardly have time to breathe. but i credit my sanity in the cancer part of my life a lot to how busy i am...and how much i love what i'm doing...and how good i feel about where i am. i also have a cool opportunity to process my own 'stuff' that i've picked up from cancer and other parts of my life. there's a huge belief in the social work curriculum that if you can't identify your own stuff and where it comes up in your work, you can't do good work. it's an interesting ride, i'm just trying to soak it up as much as i can between all the work they make us do.<br /><br />so, things are good. i'm still trying to figure out how my cancer life and non-cancer life intersect, and when it'll feel like i'm one person again. i think this will definitely happen when i start to work in oncology, but i'm hoping to figure it out a little bit before then so i don't do anything too damaging when i'm working with a cancer patient and find myself in the midst of my own stuff. but, like everything else, i'm just trying to ride it out, and as one of my classmates said 'trying to be where my feet are'.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-57150299257490365962010-08-21T13:09:00.000-04:002010-08-21T13:08:37.537-04:00re-buildingit seems that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">i'm</span> slowly working through the high anxiety phase of life post-treatment, and entering a new phase...one where i get to take control and re-build my body, my mind and my life.<br /><br />i think a lot of the anxiety had to do with my scan...and waiting to find out if i was cancer free, if i could move on with life, or if <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">i'd</span> find myself back in, well, a place i don't ever want to be in again. and, then, i had my scan, and found out i was cancer free. you'd think, and i had fully expected, to be ecstatic and go on to celebrate for days on end. let me assure you, it went nothing like that. a lot of that had to do with the way the news was delivered (in a not so super excited way), but it just seemed to be that i had been granted permission to continue to live without cancer. there are no <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">guarantees</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">i'm</span> cured, or that i don't have any other issues...just that, for now, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">i'm</span> free of cancer. and, don't get me wrong, that's a wonderful place to be in, but it's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">certainly</span> not what i expected it to be. i know it will get easier as time goes on, but i think in some way, we're all waiting for a doctor to tell us that we'll be perfectly fine...but it's cancer, and life - there are no such promises.<br /><br />so, as i learn to accept the reality that i will live life in three month increments for a while, i have to continue to push forward and have hope that every doctor's visit will be permission to live a little longer. of course, that sounds silly, and you're thinking 'no one can tell you to live...you have to do it anyways'. well, yes...and i am, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">i'm</span> starting my master's, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">i'm</span> getting back to my healthy self, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">i'm</span> moving forward...but, there will be hesitation for a while, and that's just a part of this crazy journey <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">i've</span> found myself on.<br /><br />but, in the meantime, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">i've</span> begun to re-build. cancer puts your life on hold from the time you're diagnosed to the time you finish treatment. again, you may say 'you should always continue to live', and again you're right, but there are definite limitations. cancer takes a lot of things away from you - mental and physical health, progress towards long term goals, money, and so on. and, it's not like once you finish treatment those things easily come back...you're tired, you're worn down, you're emotional, and you have no idea who you are. you really have to work hard to re-build, and i don't think anyone should expect it to come easy.<br /><br />perhaps my biggest challenge has been dealing with the emotional fall-out of cancer <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">survivorship</span>. i went from someone who's always been well psychologically, to someone who could really use help getting through a really tough time. and, as someone who's never needed help in this area, it was really hard to accept it. but, working with a counselor (and one who only deals with cancer patients/survivors) was the best thing i could have done for myself and everyone in my life. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">i've</span> learned to recognize and accept the emotions and phases i experience on this end of the cancer journey, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">i've</span> learned ways to get through each of them. cancer is tough...but, emotionally, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">survivorship</span> is tougher. it doesn't make you weak to need help.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">i've</span> also taken a new pride in re-building my health. this, also, isn't easy. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">i'm</span> still tired, a little overwhelmed, and really busy. but, let's face it...in all the things we can't control about our health, there are many things we can control. i know i had some pretty harsh treatment that will put me at a higher risk of some serious health conditions - many of which are now out of my control. however, i know i can control whether or not i get out of bed every morning and go for my run. some days, this is about as easy as it was to convince myself to go to a counselor...but, every piece of evidence in the world says exercise is vital for health. and, to know you're doing something good for yourself every day is an amazing feeling.<br /><br />and, lastly, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">i'm</span> pushing forward towards those long term goals i put on hold for the last year. i start my master's in social work a week from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">monday</span>...the first step in what i know will be an amazing career as an oncology social worker. everyone keeps telling me how much work it will be, and how stressed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">i'll</span> be. yes, it will be a lot of work. but i really do believe that if i can survive a year with cancer, that i can <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">certainly</span> get through a master's degree, too.<br /><br />so, three months and three weeks out of treatment, i can say that with each day...life is better, and this journey becomes more and more of a blessing. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">i've</span> learned so much in the last year, and while it's the toughest journey <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">i've</span> ever been on, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">i've</span> definitely realized that nothing worthwhile ever comes without a fight. when things come easy we often don't appreciate them as we should...and now, i get to feel grateful to simply wake up every day and do something to make my life, and the life of others, more meaningful.<br /><br />for those of you in a phase of this journey where you can't see the other side (especially you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">texas</span> warriors), just know that you'll get there, and that this challenge you're facing...whatever it is...is part of the path we're on, and that there's something to be gained from it. just put one foot in front of the other, and you'll get to where you need to be.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-52433715612279526412010-07-29T16:46:00.007-04:002010-07-29T17:21:12.808-04:00cancer free!<div style="text-align: center;">scan yesterday...<br />... and results show no <span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >evidence of disease</span>...which means i'm officially <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">cancer free</span></span>!</div>graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-36439959228244708492010-07-25T10:33:00.000-04:002010-07-25T10:33:12.531-04:00a year ago......my entire world changed. a year ago yesterday was the day i found out i had a large mass in my chest, and that i probably had cancer. i spent the weekend in fear, and going through what i imagine everyone does when you hear you probably have cancer. so, this year, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">i'm</span> spending a lot of time this weekend reflecting. reflecting on how thankful i am to be on the 'other side', not to be in the same place i was last year, and for how far <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">i've</span> come...<br /><br />over the last year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">i've</span> handled the toughest challenges life has ever thrown at me...physically, mentally and emotionally. and, i know <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">i'm</span> a better person because of it. i feel as though <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">i've</span> been totally grounded...i feel as though <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">i'm</span> finally the person i always wanted to be. i no longer worry (as much) about the little things, i don't get caught up in meaningless drama that so many people around me do. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">i've</span> realized that these things don't matter, and are so small on the scale of things we could possibly be dealt. every time i face an issue, i remind myself that it's not worse than what <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">i've</span> been through in the past year. it's not that these little things don't bother me...they often do. it's just that now i realize that things are as they are...and that there's always a way to get through something. if i can push myself through a year with cancer, i can certainly push myself through the every day challenges life throws my way...<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">i've</span> also developed more depth and understanding of my own emotions. i remember a fellow survivor telling me before this all started that her highs are now much higher, and her lows are lower. i guess the best way to say it is that if emotions were colors, all of mine would be more bold than they ever have been. and, of course, with a heightened range of emotion i experience sadness and fear more than ever before...but that allows me to recognize how happy i am, and to find joy and excitement in the little things each and every day.<br /><br />and, i have direction. i know what i want to do with my life, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">i've</span> had a serious fire lit under me that will propel me forward towards that goal...even when it gets tough. i feel like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">i've</span> found my place in this world, and that my experiences this past year (and those that will continue forever) have been totally worth it to be where i am now.<br /><br />so, this year, as i spend this weekend reflecting on where i was at this exact same time last year...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">i'm</span> so grateful. not just to be on the 'other side', but to have come out of this a better, and more real person than i ever have been. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">i'm</span> more genuine, and more 'me'...and, now i feel as though i actually know who 'me' is. it's a wonderful feeling. but, of course, this feeling of total happiness doesn't come without moments of sadness and fear of the unknown. but, i wouldn't trade where i am now for anything in the world...graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-66466197350287521432010-07-22T08:29:00.003-04:002010-07-22T09:00:13.055-04:00acceptance.i really do want to blog more...i say that a lot. but, somehow, i always end up here...about a month from my last blog post. and, really, i don't have a whole lot to report...which is a good thing. it means life has returned to a little bit of normalcy.<br /><br />but, just a little bit. i still think about cancer every day, have moments of serious anxiety, and worry about the 'what if'. it's going to be a long process to recovery, if there is such an end destination. i'm slowly learning to re-direct myself to something productive when i feel anxiety coming on. i've created epic 'to-do lists' just to keep myself busy when i need to be busy, and have learned to lean a little bit on others for support. i'm definitely making progress, and i definitely have a long, long ways to go.<br /><br />i think a lot of this recovery process, and becoming a survivor, is about acceptance. we do a lot of denial in our lives...from the initial denial that 'cancer won't happen to me' to the whole process of denying that this cancer could kill me, that i could have serious long term health issues from treatment, and my biggest denial...that cancer won't effect me negatively at some point.<br /><br />now that i've started my journey as a survivor, i'm beginning to accept things as they are. i had cancer, i will live with uncertainty for the rest of my life, i had some pretty hardcore treatment, and i have some pretty serious emotional scars. i'm also learning to accept that it's not what has happened to you, or will happen to you, but how you handle it. we can't change the hand we're dealt, but we can control how we play it. it's about taking ownership of the things we do well, and the things that we struggle with. it's about facing our difficulties, looking them right in the eye and developing ways to overcome them...or at least to live civilly with them. it's about taking steps forward, despite fears telling us to stand still. and, it's about accepting that who we are now is different than we've ever been before...and embracing the new person we have become.<br /><br />my biggest struggle has been planning for the future. i've realized that for the past year, i've been at a stand still. i wasn't planning for anything except how i'd get through each two week increment between treatments, or to the next appointment, scan, test, etc. i really didn't think beyond the end of treatment...it was as if surviving cancer was the only thing i was living for. but, that's what i needed to do...i needed every ounce of my emotional and mental focus to be on getting through. so, i reached that goal...i finished treatment. now, i push forward. but, there's a lingering 'what if' that nags at me every single day. as i plan to start my masters, every single step i take is tainted by a little worry...i purchased my first text book earlier this week and before i hit 'submit payment' i thought, shouldn't i wait until i have a clean scan? before i gave my notice at work, i wondered...what if my scan isn't clean? these thoughts don't stop me from pushing forward, but they create a significant pause. being a survivor means i'll have to deal with this forever...it will become less noticeable over time, but it will always be there. my challenge now is to hear the nagging, and make a concious choice to push forward despite any fear. as i said at the start of all of this...as soon as you stop living, cancer wins. i won't let that happen.<br /><br />the textbook arrived yesterday. i threw out the receipt. i'm pushing forward.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-44551257037687092562010-06-30T20:19:00.005-04:002010-07-01T08:32:30.949-04:00things i wish i knew...i wish someone warned cancer patients that being a survivor is no easy role to fill. i mean, i know you read about it, but it's not like they actually prepare you for any of this stuff. i'm doing my best learning as i go, but a heads up would have been good. so, for all of you, i have created this list of things i wish i knew...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">you will have a high when you're done treatment.</span> that high will last a month or so, and then you'll have a startling awareness that you're living a 'normal' life. it's harder than one may think to adjust to not having a lot of emotional excitement from day to day. perhaps it is the emotional excitement of active treatment, scans and seeing a doctor every other week that distracts us from all the other emotions that we end up processing later. whatever it is, it's an odd feeling to not have that excitement, and it may leave you feeling pretty 'blah' until you adjust.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">your hair will not grow back quickly.</span> in fact, it may take a while before you start to see yourself as the person you were before. your hair looks different, you've got scars, tattoos, burns from radiation, weird rashes, maybe a port still, and if you're 'lucky' like me, you've gained some weight. not only has your whole internal self been dramatically changed, but you don't even look like the person you used to be. you'll probably notice it, and it'll probably be hard to handle. accepting you've become a whole new person is a difficult thing to do. just keep reminding yourself that you're a better, stronger and more beautiful person now. you're more you than you've ever been.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">it's alright to need help. </span>seriously? yea, i wish i knew that. i've never been good at asking for help, and have always been taught to suck it up and 'make it work'. during treatment it's much easier to ask for help because you're so clearly in the midst of something that everyone knows is really difficult. once you finish treatment, the obvious need for help isn't as, well, obvious. this one i'm really still working on...i need to give myself constant reminders that asking for help doesn't mean i'm needy or that i lack independence. in fact, being able to ask for help when i need it makes me more self sufficient and successful than not asking for help and letting myself spiral into anxiety and stress.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">you just dealt with something really significant.</span> i have a tendency to minimize everything...how bad i felt during treatment, how scared i was, how frustrated i get with my body, the amount of stress i'm left with, and how huge it really is to face your own mortality. i've minimized things in order to get myself and others through this...but, really, i haven't done anyone much of a service here. give yourself some serious credit...we all know a cancer diagnosis is one of the most feared things in our world, and you just went through it. once you start to accept how huge it is, you'll be able to normalize your ups and downs...and being able to identify your experience as 'normal' at this point is so therapeutic.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">you're not alone. </span>there are 13 million survivors, according to the latest estimates. that's a lot. that means a lot of people have walked in your shoes before you. connect with someone who's 'ahead' of you in their survivorship and let them help guide you through the process. without my 'survivor mentors' i'd be totally lost. just to hear that what i'm experiencing at the moment is normal makes all the difference. and, theres a lot to be said for having those friends who just 'get it'. so, reach out. and if you don't know how to connect with someone, i'll help you.<br /><br />hopefully this helps someone who's about to enter the crazy world of survivorship. that's not to say that this side of cancer isn't wonderful. it is. it totally is. to be able to look back and realize that i survived a cancer diagnosis, eight months of treatment, and came out in one piece is an amazing accomplishment. and my quality of life is certainly better now...i have a deeper appreciation for every single day, breath, relationship and interaction in my days. but, that doesn't mean that there aren't daily challenges that come along with being a survivor...and that's what i'm hoping to bring more awareness to. i think it's that acceptance of our difficulties as survivors as being a normal part of this journey will help make them a whole lot easier to handle.<br /><br />and, if it's at all helpful to you, pay it forward and start your own list of things you wish you knew and pass it on to someone who's about to be a survivor, too. one bit of advice at a time, we can make the world a better place for every cancer survivor...and we all know there are many more to come.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-36022298966799163552010-06-13T10:44:00.001-04:002010-06-13T16:19:50.925-04:00new challenges...the journey continues.cancer presents many challenges, but, what takes a while to realize is that they can't possibly all be dealt with at the same time. when i was diagnosed, i had an initial shock of emotion which caused me to shut down while i tried to process it all. that was over a weekend (first found out i had cancer on a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">friday</span>)...starting the following <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">monday</span>, i was thrown into warrior mode - which left no time to process emotions. i was so busy trying to get through all the tests and the daily uncertainty, that it was all i could do to just get through it. then, i was finally diagnosed after two long months, and a week later i started treatment. from that point forward, the physical challenge was at the forefront...and the sole focus was finding enough inner strength and will to keep pushing forward.<br /><br />now, over three months out of chemo and over a month out of radiation the gravity of it all is finally catching up with me. it has become apparent to me that, in my own way of coping and trying to help others cope, i have minimized my experience quite a bit. i never wanted people to feel sorry for me or be afraid for me (and i still don't), so i kept telling people 'it's not so bad', or 'well, i have a really good prognosis' or 'my oncologist says <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">i'm</span> doing really well'. all of those things are true - sort of. i never felt overwhelmingly awful about the whole experience, and i do have a good prognosis, and i did do very well. but, i was given a diagnosis of a life threatening disease, and told that i had to go through physically brutal treatments for the better part of a year - treatments that will pose a serious threat to my health down the road, but are the only way to get me out of immediate danger. that's a huge risk to have to take...treatment can kill you, but it is the best chance you have to beat the cancer that will kill you if it's not treated. so, you go ahead with treatment without much thought because you don't really have any other choice. then, i had to actually physically endure the treatments...which really did suck - no matter how many times i said i was 'fine'. meanwhile, as i was battling through the physical piece, i was continuously confronted with hugely emotional appointments, scans, and discussions about prognosis - which is a really tough thing to confront, as it has everything to do with mortality.<br /><br />so, what's the point of bringing all of this up again? well, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">i've</span> recently hit a pretty hard wall. for a week or so i was feeling overly emotional, agitated and fearful. i had no idea what was going on...so, my mind went immediately to relapse. why? because that's the scariest thing i can imagine right now...and for a while, everything that doesn't 'feel' right is going to make me jump to the thought of relapse. i may not stay there long, and i probably won't be able to make a good case for it, but that's just the new normal. it wasn't until i talked to a good friend (and four year lymphoma survivor) that i realized that this rut <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">i've</span> been in is totally normal. she explained that once you can get past the physical battle, and come down from the high of 'finally living life after cancer', it's par for the course to experience a significant low. she also mentioned that it's at this point, where <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">i'm</span> out of immediate danger, that i have finally allowed every part of the emotional journey that i pushed aside, out of necessity, to emerge. and, that's fairly overwhelming.<br /><br />it wasn't until my conversation with her that i was able to take a deep breath. it feels as though i was clearly processing some serious emotions, but i didn't know why i was sad, upset, frustrated, etc. so, in an effort to relieve the emotions, i was trying really hard to figure out the cause of it. that only added more anxiety, because i could come up with no reason...so i just kept going to relapse (really? yes...that is, apparently, the answer to all unsolved puzzles at this point in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">survivorship</span>). with her help, i was able to identify that it was a 'normal' step in the journey of a cancer survivor...and, in the end, it may be a productive step (i don't want to keep these emotions <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">suppressed</span> forever). so, i was able to sit back and appreciate this challenge for what it is, and look at it as just another lesson in all of this.<br /><br />now, in this clarity, i wanted to write about it here for a few reasons. first, and most importantly, because it wasn't until i had the insight of someone who went through it before me that i could identify what was happening. and being able to identify it, and have it normalized, made all the difference. so, my hope is that i can do that for someone else. also, i think it's important that i stop minimizing my experience and appreciate it for what it is...a huge, life changing event. i told my friend that i felt melodramatic when i told people how it was without minimizing it...she told me that i was, in a different way, being just as melodramatic by minimizing it. and, lastly, i think it's important that all of you who read this blog hear that it hasn't been easy, and as much as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">i've</span> minimized my challenges throughout my journey, i should have always told it like it is.<br /><br />it's amazing what a difference it makes to be able to see things as they are. i sometimes wish i had the insight to do that on my own, but the reality of it is that i can't. at least not all of the time...and, that lends itself well to reaching out to other survivors to help offer their perspective, one that they worked really hard to have. this experience, or phase of the journey, is also an excellent reminder that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">i've</span> landed in a 'new normal', and all of these phases are part of the life of a cancer survivor. just as being a cancer patient wasn't easy, being a cancer survivor will <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">certainly</span> have it's challenges. i just hope that i can face each of them with the same strength and poise that i did as a patient. it was a lot easier when each goal was clear (get to the next treatment, get through it, get to the next one, etc...), but in this phase, i will have to make each challenge into an opportunity to grow and develop as a person, and a cancer survivor. to appreciate each phase in this experience for what it is, and to continue to look for the lessons to be learned. and, i have to appreciate that these challenges are just as big as those i faced during treatment...just different.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-67543789900199726422010-06-06T10:38:00.004-04:002010-06-06T21:05:47.193-04:00national cancer survivor day!today is national cancer survivor day, and i'm proud to be able to stand among the ever growing ranks of cancer survivors. it's a title that i'm very honored to wear, but not one that came easily...<br /><br />it's been a long road...over the past year, i've had four chest x-rays, four CT scans, two PET/CT scans, two biopsies, four pulmonary function tests, one MUGA scan, one ECHO, a bone marrow biopsy, countless blood draws, twelve chemotherapy treatments, seventeen radiation treatments, and had a port put in and taken out. i've made three trips to dana farber in boston, countless trips to maine medical center, been in surgery twice, and had three minor procedures. i've gone from a medical team of two doctors to a team of eight doctors, a nurse practitioner, two nurses, a treatment team, and a handful of radiologists and pathologists who work behind the scenes.<br /><br />...and today, on national cancer survivor day, i get to proudly wear my scars and radiation tattoos as a hard earned badge of honor. so, here's to those of you who have fought, are fighting or will fight...and here's to the hope that one day everyone who recieves a cancer diagnosis will also hear the word 'cure'.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-87963498271129388482010-06-02T10:03:00.004-04:002010-06-02T10:54:17.558-04:00what a difference a doctor makesi read an interesting post the other day that really struck a chord with me, and as we approach national cancer survivors day (sunday, june 6th), i think it's appropriate to write a post about the people who dedicate their lives to making sure that there continues to be such a day...doctors.<br /><br />this was the quote...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >You may not realize this (or you may have just forgotten), but we hang on every word you say. We take everything literally. We watch the expression on your face and the way your eyes move when you talk to us. You can make or break our spirit with a word or a look. We know you're very busy and that you are overworked, exhausted and probably w-a-y under-compensated, but I'm fighting for my life here. Please choose your words carefully, let the compassion that led you into medicine show in your eyes, and give me a hug or squeeze my hand now and then.<br /><br />And whatever you do, don't ever be guilty of saying that you don't want to give a patient "false hope." There's no such thing. A miracle could be just around the corner. It's happened before, and it will happen again and again and again.<br /><br />And it just might be tomorrow.<br /></span> </div><br />there's so much truth in this. we really do hang on every single word that our doctors say to us. i can remember every major discussion i've had with my doctors. i remember when i first found out i had a large mass in my chest, the doctor covering for my usual doctor told me 'if this is cancer, you can beat it'. i remember every time my primary care doctor has expressed her optimistic outlook on my situation. i remember every time that my oncologist has said something hopeful. and, i remember meeting my radiation oncologist and every word of that conversation that made me feel re-energized for the last step in my treatment.<br /><br />it makes me so sad every time i hear or read about someone who has encountered a doctor on their cancer journey that has belittled them, or made them feel scared or anxious. we all know doctors are overworked, and that in the scheme of cancer, hodgkins is not close to the worst of what they see. but, to us, hodgkins is the worst we have ever faced, and is the scariest thing we can comprehend...and, i wish every doctor would be mindful of how much of a difference they make with every communication, whether it be verbal or not.<br /><br />so, i want to dedicate this post to the doctors who have cared for me over the past year. thank you for giving me strength and optimism to carry through my treatment, and for allowing me to laugh at the situation when i had no other way to cope with how serious it actually was. please don't ever underestimate how much your choice to have a positive attitude, or to enter the room with a smile made all the difference in my journey. i, of course, give you credit for making incredibly difficult decisions regarding my medical treatment...but, i give you much, much more credit for the way in which you have treated me as an individual. you have given me an incredible amount of respect, honesty, and humor. you have never failed to recognize that i handle things in a unique fashion. you have always allowed me to be an active participant in my own care, and you have respected my decisions even when they haven't agreed with yours. you've had informed discussions with me, and you have never talked down to me, or implied that i don't know enough to keep up with you.<br /><br />words will never be enough, but please know that i am grateful every day that i have fallen into the hands of such competent, caring and wonderful doctors. if every person who received a cancer diagnosis could have a team as wonderful as mine has been, the world would be a much better place.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-23149175300868155852010-05-30T10:27:00.004-04:002010-05-30T11:53:05.091-04:00de-ported!it's official...i had my port taken out! i probably was the most excited patient in the entire day surgery unit friday morning. in fact, i may have been the only excited patient...surgery isn't known for being fun or exciting. unless, of course, you're a cancer survivor having the device through which you received chemotherapy removed from your body. it's one of those hugely significant events that probably only makes sense to those of you who have been through it, but it's like being freed from life as a cancer patient, it marks the end of being actively in treatment, and it means that your oncologist doesn't really think you'll need it...which is the biggest vote of confidence in the world.<br /><br />the actual procedure was a piece of cake...i checked in to the day surgery unit, waited, and then got called back...on previous visits, i've met a nurse who takes me to the pre-op area to get completely undressed and meet with the nurse, doctor, anesthesiologists, and whoever else before the actual surgery. this time, the nurse told my mom that she was going to take me and i'd be back in fifteen minutes and ready to go home...and, to make it even better, i only changed from the waist up. it's a funny time in your life when you realize you are comparing the quality of doctor/hospital/office visits with how undressed you are...the less undressed you are, the better the appointment usually is. anyways, they prepped the area, injected a good deal of lidocane, then i saw the knife...and, for some reason, i had a moment of freaking out. i haven't had a surgical procedure since october, and i was quite out of it for all the previous ones...so something about knowing what was going to happen gave me a bit of hesitation. but, my surgeon is one of the most incredible doctors i've ever met, and she was quick to assure me i'd do just fine...and she continued to stand next to me and talk with me for the rest of the procedure (which was actually done by a resident). it was an odd experience to feel the cutting and tugging, and the surgeon explained that since i'm young and healthy, the tissue grew around the port really quickly. so, he cut and pulled for quite a while, and then gave one big tug and pulled it right out. apparently, throughout the procedure i was scrunching my nose and making faces the entire time. the poor resident was so worried that he was hurting me...but, for any of you who know me, you know that those faces really don't signify anything too unusual. then, i asked to see it...and the resident had it cleaned off for me so i could take a picture of it. and, that was that...adios, port.<br /><br />right after i left the hospital, a funny thing happened.... usually, i have tried to cover my scars, not really wanting people to see them, ask about them, or whatever else people usually do. i left the hospital with a large dressing sticking out from my shirt, and i told my mom i wanted to stop at my apartment to change before we went out to lunch. i got home, came inside, and realized i didn't want to change. for the first time, i felt so proud of my scars, and my big, ugly bandage. it's not that i want people to stare or ask about them now...but, i don't feel any hesitation about telling my story. there was something seriously siginifcant about having my port removed that i hadn't expected...it made my physical self feel like a survivor instead of a patient. mentally and emotionally, i think i've been there for a while...but, i never realized how much the physical piece was really holding me back.<br /><br />so, now i am totally free from the role of cancer patient...and learning the new forever role as a cancer survivor. it's an interesting transition, but one i'm trying to embrace with as much of an open mind as i did my previous role. there are many, many lessons to be learned from this chapter of life, but it's a whole new approach. life was totally turned upside down almost a year ago, and then i spiraled through an entirely different world of cancer...and now, on the other side, i have a perspective and purpose that i am so appreciative for. there will be lots of challenges, but i feel so in awe of the chance i've been given to learn...about myself, about life, and about empathy. i'm beyond excited to use the past year of my life to propel me into a new life of helping others and validating my own experience by 'paying it forward'.<br /><br />the most common response when i tell people that i want to be involved in the cancer world...volunteering, pursuing a career in oncology social work, contributing to support groups, etc., is that i should 'take a break from cancer' and 'live my life'. perhaps my situation and approach are unique (in fact, i know they are)...but my desire to give back and help others in similar situations is not something i'm pushing myself to do because i feel i have to. it's because i genuinely want to...and, that's what i wish more people understood. just as my optimism towards cancer was genuine, so is my desire to help other cancer patients and their families. it may be unique, and it may be an exception to the rule...but, i know i'm ready. and, if it turns out that i'm not...there's only one way to learn that...through experience.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-27449360170606596142010-05-18T09:21:00.003-04:002010-05-19T09:28:00.037-04:00did that really happen?i really do wake up most days and have a hard time believing that i actually had cancer, and i actually went through six months of chemo and three weeks of radiation. sure, i've got lots of little physical reminders, but life just kept moving through cancer treatment, and then the day it was over it was like it never even happened. i suppose that's a good thing, but i sometimes wonder if i've pushed aside lots of important things i should have dealt with and they'll come back one day and bite me. it's a hard thing to explain, but i almost feel as if i wasn't upset or sad enough.... that, however, is probably a product of our own assumptions. before cancer, i always imagined if i had it, that it would be the worst thing that ever happened to me, and i'd spend my life sad about it. i think this is how we view cancer patients and survivors in our society...but, it seems further and further from the truth every day that i live this experience.<br /><br />anyways, i'm now two and a half months since my last chemo treatment, and three weeks from my last radiation treatment. time has really flown! lots of you have asked how i'm feeling, or what lingering effects i have...luckily, i feel really good. my energy is definitely returning, and while i don't have excess energy, i'm finding that i'm enjoying longer days. i used to be tired by mid-afternoon, and could only manage to make and eat dinner before going to bed after work...now, i can make it through my work day just fine, and when i come home i have a few good hours before i'm in bed. the stomach pain i was having has totally gone away, and now i'm almost certain that it was the prilosec causing all the discomfort (even though the GI specialist didn't agree)...either way, i'm glad that's gone. my hair is definitely growing back...eyebrows are almost totally back to normal, and i have my first haircut since last summer this morning to even out whatever i had left with what's coming in. probably the worst lingering effect of treatment is my skin...i have had a rash on my feet since i finished chemo that won't go away, and i have patchy red, dry, itchy skin on my upper arms and back. but, if dry skin and a rash is the worst of it...that's fine. i know i was lucky with how well i handled treatment and side effects...the more i read on the forum, the more i realize that i really did sail through treatment.<br /><br />the most exciting news is that i'm scheduled to have my port removed a week from friday! it will be so nice to get rid of it, as it really just is one more reminder of cancer (and a little bit uncomfortable). i'll always wear my scars proudly, but i don't need a scar with a bump under it for my pride. after that, if all goes well, it will be nothing cancer related until august when i will have my first post-treatment scan, and follow up visits with both my medical and radiation oncologists.<br /><br />that's all for now...i'll do my best to keep up with this blog, and all of my many thoughts of being a cancer survivor. until then...fight on, warriors!graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-39546033034151737762010-05-05T08:28:00.004-04:002010-05-05T09:08:31.106-04:00finding purpose.i woke up this morning, and had a totally surreal realization...i survived cancer. that probably sounds really ridiculous to all of you, but that's exactly how it felt. almost ten months ago, i was told i had a large mass in my chest...and then i was thrown into surgeries, scans, chemo, radiation, appointments, anxiety, fear, etc. then, i woke up today as a normal twenty something. a normal twenty something who's also a cancer survivor.<br /><br />i don't know why, or how, i've been able to move past it so 'easily' (nothing about this has really been easy). perhaps my ability to maintain a pretty decent sense of normalcy throughout this has really braced me for my return to the real world. i feared the transition for some time, and then when i woke up this morning i realized it sort of just happened while i wasn't paying attention.<br /><br />and, while i'm quite excited that i've had very little emotional trauma lately, there are a few things that have been a little more difficult.... for one, life seems a little more flat right now than it has over the last few months. i thought about this on my way to work the other day, trying to determine what about life was missing. i think what it boils down to is for the last ten months, i've woken up with a clear purpose - to fight cancer. there's a heroic attitude that goes with that...i woke up feeling proud, strong and determined. my goal was so clear to me, and that was the most important thing i would do with my day. now, i don't wake up every day and actively fight cancer...and, it sort of feels like i have less purpose. or, less urgent purpose. i know i have lots of purpose for being here...and more than i ever did before. it'll just be a new challenge to find that purpose and dig deep to uncover that same strength and will that i had when my task was to fight cancer. this one might not be thrown in my face in quite the same way, but i know i've been given the experience and insight to seek it out myself.<br /><br />the other part of this that will be a little difficult is realizing who i am as a cancer survivor. it would be silly to think i'll go back to the same person i was pre-cancer...and, to be honest, i would never want to go back to being that person again. i know i am more mature, more insightful, grateful, kind, compassionate and honest than i ever was. i'm more genuine...i'm more me. cancer makes you vulnerable. you have to find out what you're really made of when you're faced with contemplating your own mortality, the reality of your relationships with others, your self image, your will to push forward and your breaking point. there are lots of times when you're fighting cancer where you don't care at all what others are thinking about you...and these are the best moments to get to know yourself. and, sometimes it really sucks to look at yourself in the most vulnerable moments...because, it's at those moments that you really can see the things you don't like about yourself. but, with an open mind, it's those moments of awareness that allow us to make positive changes.<br /><br />so, what's my plan? to use the last ten months of my life to propel me forward with sincere purpose. i will work to maintain all the positive qualities i learned through my experience. i will never spend time doing things i just 'sort of' enjoy. i will focus my priorities on things that i really do value. i will work harder than i've ever worked to strengthen the bonds that i've made with people who stood by me through my journey through cancer. and, i will find purpose in every day, every moment, and every activity. just as i found optimism in cancer, i will find purpose in life after cancer...i just have to open my eyes, and my mind.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-28984256849816639442010-04-28T21:04:00.003-04:002010-04-28T21:06:20.874-04:00TOTALLY DONE!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyy_L26HXtZKlOfijkRRvN-NPG31JtZBxlMkyzQDwU5Zvj_sqnydMRW2ndy2MUuXWZLiTSAyqoY7XZdPPG4EmMK28Oe5crVtJ0Z3bfd63AvDKgMePeTM7efiRaqidB5gKD-a3tsAelSs/s1600/hodg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyy_L26HXtZKlOfijkRRvN-NPG31JtZBxlMkyzQDwU5Zvj_sqnydMRW2ndy2MUuXWZLiTSAyqoY7XZdPPG4EmMK28Oe5crVtJ0Z3bfd63AvDKgMePeTM7efiRaqidB5gKD-a3tsAelSs/s400/hodg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465359163985670210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">today was my <span style="font-weight: bold;">LAST</span> treatment! done with chemo, d</span><span style="font-size:100%;">one with radiation, and </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">done with cancer</span></span>...hopefully forever.</span><br /><br />...i've officially earned the title 'cancer survivor'. and now, it's on with life.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-78505816824428207472010-04-25T10:09:00.002-04:002010-04-25T10:24:50.323-04:00radiation...week three.there really is little material to write about for this part of the journey. i remember reading that on someone elses blog and thinking that i would surely be able to figure out something to write about. as i learned (the hard way) with associative nausea and chemo, you should always listen to the people who have been there before you. so, with little to write about, i'll just give a brief update...<br /><br />finished four more treatments this week, which brings the grand total to fourteen...three more to go. people ask me if i'm excited to be done. the answer is, of course, yes.... i'm so over getting up early every day, driving to radiation, changing into a johnny, getting radiation, changing again, and then going to work for a full day. and, i'm ready to really move past cancer. but, it's not nearly the same excitement as it was when i was nearing the end of chemo. radiation is 'easy' in comparison to the physical brutality of chemo. i know that radiation will bite me harder twenty years down the road...but, it's really a piece of cake in comparison to the six months before it. and, i quite enjoy seeing my radiation therapists every morning - they are some of the greatest people, ever, and they make the experience bearable, if not a little pleasant. so, am i excited? yes...but aside from normalcy and a few extra hours of sleep, there won't be too much of a change.<br /><br />as for side effects, i suppose you could say things are becoming more apparent, but no where near unbearable. the worst is the fatigue...i'm really, really tired. but, i take into consideration that i'm working full time and waking up real early every day. so, yes, i'm extra tired...but, i can still carry on with most things. my throat really hasn't changed. it still doesn't hurt, although sometimes it's a little uncomfortable to swallow. i notice it most first thing in the morning, and it fades throughout the day. it hasn't stopped me from eating anything, but i have added a bit of ice cream some nights when it's a little irritated. also, you can now see a faint outline of my radiation field on my chest. it's like the most mild sunburn, and it really doesn't hurt at all...and, most people don't see it until i point it out.<br /><br />that's about it. keep your fingers crossed that any cancer cells that escaped the chemo have been destroyed by the radiation, and that in just three days, i won't have to say 'cancer treatment' ever again when people ask what my plans for the day are.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7085653748954405756.post-52851579270342273472010-04-18T19:40:00.003-04:002010-04-23T20:03:31.154-04:00radiation...week two.not a whole lot to report on the radiation front this week.... every day was a non-event, and i'm still amazed by how quickly the treatment actually goes. the getting up early part is starting to wear on me, but luckily, i've had an easy time with side effects. i have no skin irritation, the soreness is better than it was last week, and aside from sleeping over ten hours last night - the fatigue really isn't that bad either. the only side effect i'm starting to feel is the sore throat. and, i don't even know that i'd call it a sore throat...it feels like food gets stuck in my throat, or doesn't go all the way down, when i swallow. it doesn't hurt, but it's not comfortable, either. although, that seems to have subsided a bit over the weekend...so, we'll see how that progresses...hopefully it won't.<br /><br />again, the highlight of all this is the people. the three radiation therapists on my machine (and another one who rotates in every now and then) are absolutely incredible. they make having to get up early every day and drive to a cancer center totally bearable. in fact, i think more about what the question of the day will be on my drive there than the fact that i'm still getting treatment for cancer. i owe them an endless appreciation.<br /><br />also, ran into my radiation oncologist this week as i was heading in for a treatment. i haven't seen him since we did my planning (the doctors rotate sites, and he hasn't been there on my doctor day), and seeing him was just the burst of optimism i needed. he gave me a big hug, asked me how i was feeling, and then told me how lucky he was to have me as his patient. he's one of my favorite people that i've met in this cancer experience...and i've met lots of people.<br /><br />and, lastly, i've made a friend...he gets treatment right before me on the other machine, and we pass each other every day. he's always been friendly and waved, but earlier this week we started saying 'hi' to one another, and recently we've stopped for a quick chat. he only has four treatments left, and i have seven...so, i'll be sad to not run into him - but, i'm excited that he'll be done. and i feel lucky to have met him...he's definitely been a ray of sunshine every morning.<br /><br />so, i've got one seven more to go. no treatment tomorrow because of patriots day, so four this week, and then the last three next week. it's hard to believe at that point i'll actually be done with all my treatments. it's been nine months since this all started, and i'm so ready to be done and over it for good. and, i know i've said this a lot...but, if it weren't for the people, i wouldn't be able to do it. it's the energy and spirit of those who i interact with at every appointment, treatment and in every waiting room that have kept me going.... if only everyone knew what a difference just a simple smile could make in someone elses day.graceinmainehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17961179452805411285noreply@blogger.com1