FINALLY.

"Finally" was the first word out of my mouth when I received a phone call from my oncologist two hours after I got home from my most recent CT scans on October 24th. I didn't expect to hear my results until the following morning at my appointment with her. I was mentally prepared to wait the emotionally exhausting 24 hours to find out my fate but instead it came a lot quicker then I imagined.

My house phone rang, I heard my dad tell whoever was on the other end to hold on, I grabbed the phone and heard a familiar voice. My doctor said she wanted to call me so I didn't have to wait since she finally had the chance to give me some good feedback after months and months of nothing but defeating news. My CT scans were good. There was no change in the existing masses and no new ones had formed.

The meds were working.

Naturally, I started crying. I turned to my dad and told him everything was fine. Finally. I called my mom and was so happy to be able to tell her my scans were good for the first time in a long time. I really wasn't expecting them to be.

The following day I wasn't so bitter about waiting around almost two hours for my appointment that was running behind. For once, I didn't have to load myself up on my best friend Xanax. I was there to discuss my good news instead of being told the options planned out due to crappy news. It was a small victory - one that I was happy to accept. It also made it easier to head to the airport that night with a smile on my face to spend the next 13 days in Spain. I had decided the trip would either be a celebratory vacation or an escape from real life for a while. It felt good to know I could enjoy myself rather then worry about what would await me upon my arrival back to my normal life.

During my appointment with my oncologist, we obviously agreed to keep me on the combination of Lupron injections and daily Letrozole pills. We also discussed the option of RFA (Radio Frequency Ablation). A few months back I had an appointment to see if I was even a candidate for this type of procedure. Your tumors have to be within a certain size in order for it to be done - as of right now, mine are. RFA is basically a procedure that will burn my tumors (that's the type I would get, anyway). It's not a big surgery like I've been through in the past but it's also not some small, dinky form of treatment. I mean, holes are literally being burned into my lung. My lung could also collapse in the process which would mean another lovely chest tube (one of my biggest foes) and a possible hospital stay. Obviously, they can only do one lung at a time but they did say they would be able to do both tumors at the same time. The cool, hippy-ish doctor that spoke with us about RFA also stated that I would probably only have to wait about a month in between to do the other lung - which was a positive thing.

Needless to say, my mother was all about this procedure. Her theory consists of the idea that no Cancer in there is better then the Cancer being kept at bay. I sort of agree but I need a break. The last year and a half I've felt like a science project. All that comes to mind is the scene in Frankenstein when the electric machines go crazy and the monster suddenly starts to move..."It's alive!!"

The only difference is that I don't have the theatrical neck bolts to add to my list of freakish looking body defects. Perhaps I can request them the next time I go under the knife. At least I wouldn't need to worry about costume selections every Halloween.

My oncologist suggested we wait until my next set of scans at the end of January before we made any decisions on RFA. The problem with that type of procedure is that it doesn't cure you. It basically just zaps the existing masses but it doesn't mean they won't come back. I agreed that if in another three months I received favorable text results again, I would consider the option of RFA.

My next CT's are scheduled for January 30th, 2013. It would be really nice to start 2013 off with some positive news considering 2012 basically blew a big one. Unfortunately, the happiness of my recent results is starting to fade and the uncertainty of the next outcome is setting in.

Side note: I can report that as the days and weeks go by on these meds I have started to notice myself getting more emotional then usual. Today alone I cried twice! I was out to brunch with my dad at a local diner and I could feel the tears start welling up in my eyes. Why?! Was it because I was just so overwhelmed with the fact that it was taking abnormally long for my omelet to make it's way to my table? Then I made a run to Starbucks later in the day and while sitting in my car waiting for a light to change I just burst into tears. These were not tears of joy due to how delicious my chai latte tasted. These were some random tears from a weird combination of emotions. Out of nowhere. It's a little frustrating to not have a lot of control over my emotions but I'm trying to tell myself it's not me.

Everyone around me has been great with encouraging me to be positive; however, the truth of the matter is that anything can happen. The meds can stop working at any time. I've said in the past that I don't find myself to be a negative person, just a realist. I like to prepare for any situation. Don't get me wrong, I am SUPER happy that at least for now, I can breathe a little easier. It's just frustrating to live life in three month intervals. Hopefully I'll one day be able to move to six month intervals and then finally twelve month periods of relief. Until then, I'll take this battle victory in the war against my nemesis.

12 Days and Counting...

I feel like I took a bit of a hiatus from posting. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because the last two months have been somewhat of a whirlwind in my personal life and I kind of forgot for a while that I'm still living in 3 month intervals. Well, the 3 months are almost up and my next appointment - which is perhaps my most important to date - is coming up in 12 days. It's scary.

On October 25th, 2012 I'll find out if the combination of both the Lupron and Letrozole are working...or not. If they are, it's 3 month intervals until they stop doing their job. If not, chemo...? I'm sure on the 24th when I'm laying on that slab of cold plastic with radiation being pumped through my body taking pictures of my insides, all I will be thinking about is how many hours, minutes, seconds it'll take to find out what they'll show. It's a horrible feeling. One that I'm sure too many people have felt many times.

My side effects have (thankfully) remained the same. It's hot flashes and mood swing central in Erin World. Could always be worse - I always try to remember that. I could look back at that list of nightmare-ish side effects and realize that practically all of them are worse then what I've had to deal with since I started on the Lupron. I am thankful for that, at least. I mean, I could've wound up with the fruity smelling breath for Pete's sake! Although, I've heard from a source that the scent of my breath isn't all that pleasant lately. I'm going to chalk this up to the meds and leave it at that.

One thing I've started trying to dive into is the wonderful world of Juicing. I like it! Clean up is a bitch (perhaps it's the Juicer I selected) but other then that and the fact that I have to take the garbage out daily because of the intense foul odor of the remains, I love it! I wouldn't exactly call myself a Juicing Extraodinaire just yet being that I don't really have any rhyme or reason to what I throw in there...but I do know that so far, I have not been turned off by the taste of any of my concoctions and the simple satisfaction it gives me that I'm loading my body up with natural vitamins makes the sting of my depleting bank account all the more worth while.

 

 

I had a bit of a running start that suddenly came to a jolting stop when I found out that kitchen appliances aren't very Erin-friendly. My first Juicer died on me from an unknown death (it was the second time I used it)...along with the garbage disposal who apparently choked on the remains of my pulp. Off to the store I went to try a cheaper (and easier to clean) Juicer, who decided to give up on life after the third veggie was thrown in. This wasn't a very good start to my new found love for juicing.

After a bunch of "Of COURSE this is happening to me!!!" tantrums, I returned back to the store and decided to give my first Juicer Model another shot. After having a brief peptalk with my new old Juicer, I was off and running once again. I'm hoping that now that we have an understanding, we can live in peace and juice forever. We shall see.

Aside from the juicing, I wanted and intended to try to go as Vegan as possible. However, those who know me know my main food enjoyments include seafood and cheese. I decided that a little Vegan was better then no Vegan so I will admit, I have been cheating...my affair with fish and seafood has continued. I AM trying to cut back whenever I can and substitute more veggies and fruit as much as possible. Every little bit can only help.

Along with the slight change of diet, I have started including exercise back into the mix. It's SO important and I have been neglecting it for too long. I remember when I was religiously at the gym at least 4 days a week. My body loved me for it and it's time to treat her the way she deserves once again. Plus it's a huge stress relief and Lord knows (lately especially) I have been teetering between the thin line of Sanity and Crazy Town.

When an important appointment is around the corner, the weeks and days leading up to it are always the worst emotionally for me. This time is no different. It doesn't help that for some reason I just have this bad feeling looming over me. Is it just my nerves or actual intuition? I'm obviously hoping for the nerves to win that battle. It's easy for everyone to tell you to stay positive when it's not them that's waiting to find out their fate. I always just smile and say, "I am".

These last few months since I started on the Letrozole have been both amazing and incredibly hard. I've been tested quite a few times emotionally and just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, I realized I could. It's incredible what you can conquer if you just keep pushing forward and believe in yourself. I'm trying to apply that logic to my health as best as I can. In the meantime, at least I know I can apply it to everything else in my life. Especially when you get a chance to witness some of the beauty this world has to offer. Yesterday I saw perhaps the most magnificent sky I've ever seen.

 

 

 

It makes you believe that Heaven must really exist. I was driving alone and couldn't help but pull over and just stare at it for a few minutes and smile. Moments like those are ones that I am finally beginning to appreciate more and more. Something so vast and impersonal suddenly feels like it was put there just for you. To have that feeling is great.

So - here I am. 12 days and counting until one of the most important days of my life, so far; to me, anyway. I have joked about D Day's in the past but this one - this Decision Day...Domination Day...anything but Defeat Day - is going to be one of the most emotional. I'm hanging onto the Hope that I always have. Hoping the nightmare might start coming to an end...or just Hoping I'll be able to handle it without the help of a Lobotomy.

I want to include something that was emailed to me a while back. I can say that I basically loathe "chain letter" emails but this one had a bit of a beautiful message. Till next time...

A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper- wrapped package:

'This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package.'

He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box.

'She got this the first time we went to New York , 8 or 9 years ago. She has never put it on , was saving it for a special occasion.

Well, I guess this is it.

He got near the bed and placed the giftbox next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral house, his wife had just died.

He turned to me and said:

'Never save something for a special occasion.

Every day in your life is a special occasion'.

I still think those words changed my life.

Now I read more and clean less.

I sit on the porch without worrying about anything.

I spend more time with

my family, and less at work.

I understood that life should be a source of experience to be lived up to, not survived through.

I no longer keep anything.

I use crystal glasses every day...

I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if I feel like it.

I don't save my special

perfume for special occasions, I use it whenever I want to.

The words 'Someday....' and ' One Day...' are fading away from my dictionary.

If it's worth seeing, listening or doing, I want to see, listen or do it now....

I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell.

I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends.

She might call old friends to make peace over past quarrels.

I'd like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favorite food.

It's these small things that I would regret not doing, if I knew my time had come.

Each day, each hour, each minute, is special.

Live for today, for tomorrow is promised to no-one.

Me vs. The Big C

Two Monday's ago, July 30th, 2012 I met with my Oncologist to discuss the results of my last CT Scans. Both tumors had grown, a new one had sprung up in my right lung and apparently a fourth mass in my left lung remained the same - although they will continue to watch it. I was obviously not thrilled with the growth of a new tumor and the other two getting larger, but was hopeful that due to the slow growth process, the Lupron injections were working to a certain extent. My Oncologist decided to add on an additional daily hormone blocker, Letrozole, to see if completely ridding my body of estrogen would stunt the growth of this evil parasite.

When questioned about chemo, she had a response I wasn't expecting. She basically said, for now, we should make me as comfortable as possible dealing with this disease instead of making me miserable with something as toxic as chemo...due to what was in store for my "future".

This meeting was different then any other meeting I had with her because of the lack of hope in her response to my results. The long and the short of what she said was that basically this disease was nasty and unpredictable and extremely serious...and that sooner or later (stressing the sooner), it would take over and it would win. So why torture me in the process...

Hearing that your life will most likely come to an end a hell of a lot sooner then you ever expected it to is not the most comforting thing that can run through your mind. To my own surprise, I found myself to be completely calm and somewhat sarcastic about this slight death sentence. I mean, how much have I already heard regarding this fucked up disease that has been inhabiting my body for the last (almost) four years? Sometimes I just feel jaded and kind of want to laugh at how much crap has been thrown my way. Just another crappy thing to add to the pile of bullshit thrown into the back of my mind.

Needless to say, the following day the news kind of sunk in and I had a slight breakdown. So basically, on top of never being able to have children, I should expect to die somewhat soon...? GREAT!

I won't lie. The last week or so has been a pretty emotional one. I'm up, down, up, down...crying, laughing, sad, happy, depressed, anxious, thankful, resentful...

Is it the hormones (or lack thereof)? Is it the fact that I'm going through menopause? Is it anxiety? Is it a combo of everything? Who the hell knows. I feel bad for those that are close to me because I feel like I can't control my moods super well anymore. Perhaps I'm slowly starting to slip into that crazed space in my head. I'm not quite sure.

What I DO know, however, is that I'm not a quitter. I never was. When I was backed into a corner, I usually fought my way out. I've never been one to have anyone tell me what I can or cannot do, so I'm not about to start now. You tell me The Big C is going to win? I don't think so, buddy!

Many things in life I find to be somewhat of a game...interviewing for a new job, bagging that guy you've had your eye on, stalking out an item of clothing you know will go on sale...it's all how you play your cards. I'd like to think that my odds when playing whatever game it is I'm playing at the moment, are usually pretty high. Call it confidence, call it cockiness, call it whatever the fuck you want. Usually, when I want something bad enough, I get it. I'm not about to change that now.

So clearly, it has now come down to Me vs. The Big C. Whose going to win? Sorry you piece of shit disease, it ain't gonna be you!

Up until last week I never really felt as though I was in a fight for my life but clearly the tables have turned and that is exactly what needs to happen. It's as if I knew I would need to strap on the gloves and give it a go with Cancer when I was first diagnosed. Good thing I already got the ink to prove it.

So now, my friends, comes the true test of who holds the power. My arch nemesis or me. Put your fists up, Cancer: let's go.

Current Thoughts...

(Written July 18th, 2012)

I’m sure I’m not the only one that starts to be on edge a few days, a week or even a few weeks before they find out some kind of life changing news. Whether it be waiting for an Acceptance Letter to college, finding out if you’re preg with a boy or girl, or awaiting some test results that will affect the way you live from here on out, we always seem to feel that twinge of uneasiness right before we hear the verdict. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been more anxious or scared or nervous or manic then I’ve been the last few days.

My CT’s are on Monday, July 23^rd. Five days away. Once I get the results I’ll find out if these injections have been working…or if it was just another failed lab rat experiment. I’m actually scared about two things: 1.) That this isn’t working and 2.) That it is. What’s the lesser of two evils? If this isn’t working then it’s chemo for me…which we all know I’ve been dreading since day 1. If it is working then it’s injections and side effects and the fear of one day being riddled with the disease forever, basically.

 Obviously if it were up to me I would take the injections over the alternative. It’s safe to say that really the only side effects (thus far) have been hot flashes. Although it’s a little annoying to be sitting somewhere completely fine and the next minute having to strip down to the bare minimum whilst fanning yourself with the nearest makeshift item you can find (and let me tell you, when it’s a few dollar bills, you don’t exactly get the most accepting looks), I’ll take the weird body temperature changes instead of some of the other daunting side effects menopause/Lupron brings on.

 So now I guess you could say I’m a ticking time bomb of sorts. I’ll be going about my business just fine and dandy and then WHAM! I turn into Linda Blair from The Exorcist when her head is spinning around and she’s spewing up green vile. It’s not a pretty sight and I feel bad for those who have been in my path when that happens.

 I should know by Tuesday or Wednesday of next week what life will have in store for me and of course, I’m terrified. Not to mention for the last two weeks my ribs on my left side under my boob feel as though I just recently got surgery. What the fuck is that about? They’re killing me to the point that I’ve once again declared The Bra my mortal enemy. They were hurting at first but then went away a few days later. Then the pain returned and has been with me since. It’s starting to make me nervous now. What the hell does that mean? All that keeps running through my head is that there’s a giant tumor pushing up against my ribs causing them to hurt.

 From now until next week I’m sure I’ll be popping xanax like jelly beans so be aware when you’re talking to me that if I have that blank, glazed over stare, I’m most likely not hearing a damn word you’re saying.

Number 2

(Written June 28th, 2012)

Almost four weeks ago on June 4^th, 2012 I received my second Lupron injection. I was able to get this done at the Basking Ridge facility which made my anxiety a little less intense and my inconvenience a little more convenient. At least going there, I only need to travel an hour to get my 3 minute doctor visit and then travel the hour back home…as opposed to taking an hour and ½ train ride or car ride into the bustling and congested streets of NY and sitting around for three hours only to be seen for 1.5 minutes meanwhile having to listen to horror stories of dying Cancer patients overcrowding the waiting room.

I was called in a few minutes after I arrived to receive my injection. I walked into the room, was told to put my hands on the counter as if I was getting strip searched and felt a sharp pinch…higher then where I thought I would feel it.

Maybe it’s just me, but I feel as though this woman stabbed me in my back…literally. I’m supposed to be receiving these injections in my ass. To me, this looks like my lower back, no? I know my ass is a little flat but I don’t think it’s as flat as my back so I’m quite sure someone – especially a nurse – could tell the difference.

Regardless, I then had a lovely lingering bruise that looked much like a spider bite (which I didn’t get when I was jabbed in the ass the last time). I’m not sure if I’m being overly paranoid, but lately I feel as though I’m bruising much easier then normal. I usually bruise fairly easy to begin with but I look like I was rough-housing sans padding with some football jocks.

Two days after this injection, I felt as though I was going through labor pains. As usual, I was sitting in my office desk chair while experiencing this charming side effect. Perhaps it’s life just letting me experience one of the not-so-pleasant things that comes along with child birth…allowing me to somewhat be “thankful” for not being able to bear children? Thanks, life…

On June 2^nd I was asked to speak at my town’s Relay for Life’s Survivor Luncheon. I’ve been volunteering with The American Cancer Society since I was diagnosed but this past year, with everything going on, I felt as if I was surrounded by Cancer SO much that I just didn’t have it in me to volunteer like I was used to doing. So when a good friend and fellow Survivor asked me to speak, I was both honored and questionable. There have been previous years where I had been asked but I found myself thinking that my journey wasn’t as story worthy as many others who were fighting this battle. With everything I have experienced this past year, I decided that I wanted to do the speech this year.

Grabbing a glass of wine and my laptop, I penned a decent speech in just under two hours the Thursday before the event. I started out the intro by explaining my initial reaction upon being asked – which again, was that I didn’t feel like my story was as intense as other Survivors. I was then knocked back into reality by realizing that no matter how intense my Cancer ride through Hell was, every person fighting this disease has a story worthy of sharing. No matter how long or extreme or painful or difficult, we all experience the same fears and emotions that the next person does. No matter who you are, it’s never easy to hear that you have Cancer. Your mind automatically starts playing tricks on you and has you wondering when your time is going to come to an end. If it’s 10 days or 10 years since your diagnosis, you still hold your breath when your doctor informs you of your test results. You always have that looming anxiety that it will come back and what other torture devices you will have to endure.

It was an honor to be able to speak and try to convey a message of hope to my fellow Survivor’s. I only wish I was able to lift some spirits while I was up there but I know it’s hard to be positive when dealing with such a negative illness.

Unfortunately, you join a club that you never really wanted to sign up for once you get diagnosed. Of course, you can also look at it like you just gained some really close friends and you’ll meet some of the most incredibly courageous people you never imagined could exist. I know I did.

My next injection is scheduled for this coming Monday, July 2^nd in NY because I’m also meeting with my Oncologist that day. I’m assuming I’ll be meeting with her to discuss my side effects. Although I know I’ve been complaining, I haven’t really experienced anything crazy yet…you know, other then feeling like I was getting stabbed in the uterus with a steak knife and having my body temperature fluctuate from cold to hot and hot to cold. I wouldn’t consider these hot flashes but rather just a change in my body temperature that I’m not used to getting.

I will say that I am waiting for more side effects to occur. Each day I expect to get them but I’m hoping they will never come. Who knows. It’s all a waiting game with this disease, is it not? I’ll leave you with my Survivor Speech:

My name is Erin Patrick and I’m a Survivor.

When I was asked to be the speaker for the Survivor Luncheon, I was hesitant to accept the offer. To me, I always felt that my journey through this Cancer battle wasn’t as intense or story worthy as other Survivor’s. I have yet to need chemo. I haven’t lost any body parts. I still physically feel healthy. Then I thought about it and realized that no matter how many surgeries or types of treatment or areas of the body affected, every single Survivor has a story worthy of sharing. We are all in a war for our lives. We all have the same fears and concerns. When we’re told, “You have Cancer,” we all share the same emotions. So here I am, to share my story with you today.

In 2008, at the age of 23, my boyfriend at the time informed me I felt swollen “down there”. I’m sure all the women can agree that if you’re swollen down there, you’re going to feel it. I told him he was nuts and went about my day. After work I decided to check myself and what I found left a huge lump in my throat. I found a hard mass, about the size of a golf ball, inside me. I immediately made an emergency trip to my OBGYN the following morning.

To my relief, he told me my Bartholin’s Gland was probably blocked, causing a cyst to form. This is a common occurrence for women. We decided to try some meds to bring down the swelling. If they didn’t work, I would have a small 15 minute procedure to have the cyst drained. Needless to say, after a few weeks on the meds, my “cyst” was growing larger and so I decided to have it drained. After waking up 2 hours after I had gone into surgery, I knew something was wrong – especially after my doctor held up his hands to show me how big my tumor was.

It took two weeks and two hospitals to finally diagnose me. On September 8^th, 2008 I was diagnosed with Vaginal Leiomyosarcoma. LMS is rare in and of itself but to have it vaginally – especially at such a young age – was nearly unheard of. Finding out I had Cancer was earth shattering enough but to learn that it was “down there” wasn’t exactly comforting. I knew I would need to get over my phobia of needles and my body would never really be a private thing again.

Shortly after my surgery I started seeing specialists at Sloan-Kettering in NY. I was told that I was one of 20 something known cases worldwide with this type of Cancer in that area of the body. I had a second vaginal surgery to remove the margins around the area my tumor was present in October of 2008 and found out a few days later that my results were negative. I was Cancer free. It was one of the happiest days of my life. I wound up going every 3 months for CT’s, check up’s, blood work and endless probing and prodding for 2 and ½ years.

In June of last year, I received a call that I knew would change my life forever. My doctor called to follow up with the results of my routine CT scans. However, instead of hearing the usual, “they’re all clear!” response, he told me he was making an appointment for me with a lung doctor at the hospital. I already knew what this meant. I had Cancer again, and it was in my lung this time.

I’m going to digress a little and just state one thing about me. I sing. It is my passion in life. I’ve been doing it since I was a baby and I honestly can’t imagine my life without it. It’s who I am. It’s what I’m known for. So to hear that I had Cancer in my lung came along with a whole crapload of worries for me. Would I lose my lung? Would I be able to sing like I used to? Would I even be able to sing at all?

When I met with my lung doctor for the first time, he showed me where the tumor was in my lung. From the scans, it looked as though it was attached to an artery. He informed me that he wouldn’t know until I was under the knife if I was going to lose my lung (or at least a large portion of it) or if he would just be able to cut around the artery. He didn’t give me very good odds for the latter diagnosis. I was devastated.

On June 28^th, 2011 I had major lung surgery on my left lung along with laparoscopic surgery on my pelvis due to a small nodule showing up there as well. The minute I woke up, the first thing I asked the nurse standing over my bed was if he took my entire lung. She smiled at me and said, “No. He only had to remove the tumor.” I couldn’t stop smiling and I made sure to tell everyone that walked by through my heavily medicated state that I still had my lung.

After 5 days in the hospital and nine weeks of Disability, I was finally able to strap a bra back on without feeling as though I was being stabbed in my back with a knife. Six months later, in December of last year, I was informed the Cancer was back yet again…in my right lung this time. I was wondering if I was ever going to catch a break. On January 3^rd of this year, I woke up with good news, yet again. My doctor was able to do a more minor surgery and I still had my right lung. It was crazy for me because I was still recovering from my left lung surgery when I had the right one operated on. Even to this day I’m still numb at the incision spots and along my back and ribs.

In April I was told that I now have Cancer back in both lungs. This is my present day “situation”, for lack of a better term. I knew surgery was no longer an option and chemo isn’t proven to really work with my type of Cancer. My Oncologist informed me that the route she wanted to take was hormone therapy. Or rather, hormone blockage therapy. When my LMS returned to my lung the first time, my tumor was stained for estrogen levels. It showed that I had an unusually high amount of estrogen in the tumor so it was decided that if I was able to somehow get rid of the estrogen, it would, in turn, stop the Cancer from returning.

Last month I received my first injection of Lupron. This therapy will push me into early menopause and I was told that due to the evil relationship of estrogen and my Cancer, I would never be able to have children. At 27, hearing this kind of information isn’t the most settling news. I will be receiving my 2^nd injection this Monday, followed by a final injection next month. At the end of July, I’ll have CT’s done and if the therapy is working, I’ll continue on it for as long as it works. If it isn’t working, it’ll be back to the drawing board.

I feel that although being told you have Cancer is one of the worst things you could possibly hear in your life, it also kind of forces you to bear a badge of courage. I never thought I could deal with everything I’ve gone through with such grace and strength. All of us are stronger then we could ever know. All of you are stronger and more incredible every day you fight this battle.

The message of Relay is Hope, and it’s one we all learn to appreciate upon hearing the words, “You have Cancer”. There are more incredible and courageous people I’ve met in this room that I could’ve ever imagined meeting in my whole life. When I was first diagnosed, I felt so alone. No one I knew had Cancer – especially no one my age. Then I found out about The American Cancer Society and I was instantly surrounded by amazing people, Surviving and fighting every day. I realized that a diagnosis is not a death sentence. It’s forced me to do things I wouldn’t normally do. I’ve taken more chances, I’ve opened my heart more to others, I’ve started to appreciate the beauty in things rather than dwelling on the not so attractive parts of life. I sing every chance I can get. I started a blog documenting my journey that Survivor’s from all over the world have connected with me through. It’s incredible how many kind words I’ve received and new friends I’ve made because of this. All of you are the reason I’ve been able to stay out of a strait jacket, locked away in a padded cell. You’ve shown me there is a reason to live and a reason to never give up. You’ve shown me there’s always Hope.

Thank you.

The Verdict.

So - to make a long story somewhat short, the verdict was that my only real choice at the moment is to do hormone therapy. I got my first Lupron shot (in the ass) on Monday after meeting with my oncologist and blowing through (no pun intended) about six boxes of crappy hospital tissues. Am I at all happy about this decision that I was practically forced to take (...being that there really are no other options for the time being...)? Not at all. But I guess this is just another fucking bump in the road that I'll have to get through.

While my oncologist was explaining the treatment, all that kept running through my mind was that my womanhood was basically being stolen from me...as foolish as that sounds. I was told that I would be pushed into menopause and would never be able to have children. Ever.

Being that my Cancer is shown to be estrogen based/fed/whatever you'd like to call it, I guess if I ever were to want to have a child it would be kind of like a death sentence for me. Then of course, the one thing she said that has stuck out in my mind more then anything else from Monday's meeting was that even if I had a child, the chances of me walking that kid down the aisle was slim. So basically, she shaved a whoooole lot of years off my life with that one statement. It's a little like getting your stomach punched extremely hard when hearing something like that. Like basically you're gasping for breath but you have none. It's a good thing I was about 6 xanax deep by then because if I was completely coherent I probably would've passed out.

After giving the go ahead to strip me of all things female, I collapsed on the floor of that stupid hospital bathroom and basically just kept telling myself that everything would be fine and I would get through this like I've gotten through everything else that has been thrown my way.

I find it extremely ironic and sickening that I can never have children and that my life might possibly end sooner then expected. Growing up, I ALWAYS said that I never wanted kids and I never wanted to be one of those suffering elderly people who are basically just surviving day by day instead of really living. Ha. Be careful what you wish for, eh? I'm obviously living proof that you might get what you want. And it might turn out to be exactly the opposite of what you need.

So now I'm plagued with the thought of never having a genetically matched mini me running around...and I'll tell you, the thought hurts. Who would've thought this anti-child woman would've ever had a change of heart? Not me! But in true Erin fashion, not being able to have something always made me want it that much more. Sick, I know.

After I popped another 3 xanax and exited Sloan with my face as puffy and red as an over-ripe tomato, I started the long ride home of torture just playing out all these horrible scenario's in my head of what was to come. As bottles of lube and ice packs and Viagra for women danced in my head, I finally drifted to sleep. It felt like the next two days were spent in that same self-medicated state where I was up and down all at the same time.

It is exactly one week since my first injection and I have a few things to say. First, the side effects have been minimal compared to the lovely LONG list I will share later on that I found on Lupron. The third day I was met with wanting to puke in my garbage can at work the entire day. I have never been so nauseous in my entire life. The following day my period showed up unannounced and unexpected. The fifth day was spent with my head between my legs because of the almost debilitating cramps that I was getting...all damn day. Basically, it was as if I was 14 again and I had to stay home from school because of how completely shitty I felt from being on the rag.

I can say that I was rather emotional upon learning that my period had come. It was almost as if I was waving from the deck of a departing ship and Aunt Flow was sending me off...wishing me well. I would never see her again. The bitch that I hated for so many years was finally leaving me alone and yet I wished she would stay with me for many, many more years to come. How fucked up is that!

The day after learning my fate and receiving my first injection, I met up with a very dear friend and fellow Survivor. She had actually been on Lupron in the past and told me that yes, the hot flashes and vaginal dryness sucked...but that it wasn't as bad as I would think it was going to be. This was somewhat reassuring but at the same time, all I kept thinking is knowing my luck, I would be the one to turn Bipolar, have my boobs shrink and never want to have sex again. I would be the 27 year old Shrew.

The day I returned to work, my mother decided to send me a link to glance over all the side effects that have been known to accompany Lupron use. The following are the ones listed (brace yourself):

Leuprolide injection may cause side effects. Tell your doctor if any of these symptoms are severe or do not go away:

• tiredness
  
• hot flashes (a sudden wave of mild or intense body heat), sweating, or clamminess
  
• breast tenderness, pain, or change in breast size in both men and women
  
• vaginal discharge, dryness, or itching in women
  
• spotting (light vaginal bleeding) or menstruation (periods)
  
• decrease in size of testicles
  
• decrease in sexual ability or desire
  
• swelling of the hands, feet, ankles, or lower legs
  
• pain, burning, or tingling in the hands or feet
  
• pain, burning, bruising, or hardening at place where injection was given
  
• change in weight
  
• muscle or joint pain
  
• flu-like symptoms
  
• acne
  
• depression
  
• unable to control emotions and frequent mood changes
  
• nervousness
  
• general feeling of discomfort or uneasiness
  
• difficulty with memory

Some side effects can be serious. If you experience any of these symptoms, call your doctor immediately:

• redness or swelling at place where injection was given
  
• itching, rash, or hives
  
• difficulty breathing or swallowing
  
• pain in the arms, back, chest, neck, or jaw
  
• slow or difficult speech
  
• dizziness or fainting
  
• weakness, numbness, or inability to move an arm or leg
  
• bone pain
  
• painful, frequent, or difficult urination
  
• blood in urine
  
• extreme thirst
  
• weakness
  
• dry mouth
  
• nausea
  
• vomiting
  
• breath that smells fruity
  
• decreased consciousness
  
• sudden headache
  
• blurred vision
  
• vision changes
  
• difficulty moving eyes
  
• drooping eyelids
  
• confusion

I'm not even sure where to begin when looking at this list. I think the first thing I noticed was the acne. I can count on two hands the number of times I've ever had a pimple on my face and let me tell you - I'm not about to let fucking Cancer come in the way of my clear skin! Swelling? Burning? Change in weight?! My metabolism already blows as it is! I was joking with my colleague that from now on I would be bringing in one leaf of lettuce for lunch every day since I wouldn't be able to afford eating more then that.

Moving along to the bottom list...difficult speech? Most times I already think I'm dyslexic with a speech impediment since I'm constantly stumbling over my own words. Decreased consciousness? Drooping eyelids?! Confusion?? It's a battle for me to remember where I am and what I'm doing on a regular basis let alone tack on some more of it. I mean...I don't even know how fruity breath can be added as a negative thing. I would actually prefer my breath to smell like a mango rather then the alternative. I'm going to say that this might actually be the one and only positive on this list of negatives.

Needless to say, I was not exactly thanking my mother for enlightening me with all these nightmare side effect possibilities. I guess the only thing I could do is wait to find out how this would affect me...and surprisingly (FINGERS CROSSED), so far so good. That's not to say I won't suddenly wake up not knowing where I am or how I gained 65lbs while I'm puking over the side of my bed in pain with a "general feeling of discomfort or uneasiness".

My next injection is scheduled for June 4th and the following one in July, followed by CT's to see how (or if) this treatment is working. If it is, I will continue this treatment indefinitely until it stops working. If it's not working, I will most likely start chemo. My oncologist did make it a point to say we would find the right one that wouldn't cause my hair to fall out. At least she remembered that my vanity is still coming into play here.

So, as usual, now I get to play the waiting game to see if this whole hormone therapy bullshit will actually work. I was considering making a small shrine to my birth control that I will no longer need (we've been having an affair for around 8 years) but decided to spare you the photo montage and just say that the amount of support I've received over the last week has been incredibly heartwarming. It makes moving onwards and upwards a little easier...even if I seem like an emotional wreck most of the time. I'm hoping I can just go on living...happily. Time will tell.

In the meantime, if you see me wandering the streets aimlessly and don't know who I am or what I'm saying, do not fret. It's just the hormones.

Menopause...at 27?

While enjoying my morning cup of tea, reading my morning online news, I came across a fitting article for my current "situation". And let me tell you - it is now 9:07am and I have already dosed myself with xanax.

On Monday, 4/23/12, I received a call from my mother stating that she had spoken with my Oncologist. The "good" news (if you'd like to look at it in that light) was that she still did not believe chemo was an option for me. Looks like I would get to keep these beautiful flowing locks of hair after all! Surgery clearly hasn't been working but if that's what I wanted to do, we could try it again. However, the route she wanted to take this time around was Hormone Therapy.

When I first went to Sloan, they stained my tumors for estrogen due to where my Cancer originated. Apparently, the tests showed that my tumors contained high levels of estrogen. This was vital information for my doctors because this would narrow down the type of chemo or treatment options that would be made available to me. Now that this lovely disease has surfaced, yet again, my Oncologist was leaning towards Hormone Therapy for the simple reason that if you get rid of the estrogen in my body, it would, in turn, possibly get rid of the Cancer.

Great. Something other then getting my body sliced and diced for a third time in ten months. But upon learning that she would like me to go for the Hormone Therapy, I realized one thing: it would push me into early Menopause.

The ironic part of this entire thing is that I was never a "kid" person. When a baby would cry or whine or speak or look at me...I would cringe. Get that thing away from me. Now that I'm faced with the ugly truth of never having the option to have a mini version of myself running around with my incredible bone structure, witty personality and God given musical ability...I'm quite devastated. I never really figured that at 27 I would be faced with having to decide if reproducing was more important then I thought it would ever be to me.

Along with having to decide if I should do this Hormone Therapy or more surgery (both of which may either work or not work - which is always the "beauty" of Cancer), I also need to decide if I can really handle all the other side effects that come along with Menopause.

Getting back to the article I was reading this morning, which seemed to only surface due to having hot flashes and weight gain on the brain, I came across an article: 10 Classic Symptoms and Challenges of Menopause.

Ha. Isn't life a little funny bitch? I think so!

After going through these 10 wonderful HORRORS of Menopause, I immediately dove into my bag to feverishly search for that little peach colored pill that always seems to help take my troubles away.

Let me list the "Symptoms and Challenges" stated in this article and you decide if it's something you would particularly enjoy going through...at any age:

1. Mood Swings
2. Vaginal Dryness
3. Aches and Pains
4. Memory Loss
5. Hot Flashes
6. Sleeplessness
7. Low Libido
8. Thyroid Problems
9. Belly Fat
10. Depression

I think I may be single for the rest of my life.

My existing mood swings are already borderline Bipolar so to have these enhanced might seriously have anyone (and everyone) in my life, running for the hills...to jump off.

Vaginal dryness and low libido? I don't even know if I need to go into how heavily these two charming "challenges" will be weighing on my mind. Good thing I went to that sex toy party and grabbed a handful of flavored lubes...

My social drinking and drug use have already beaten down the brain cells that affect memory so when you see me with a notepad hanging around my neck and a hand held tape recorder in my pocket at all times just to remind me where I put my toothbrush, you'll know why.

The wonderful Thyroid problems and belly fat issues are just two more gems to add to this list of things to look forward to being that I have always struggled to look this good (ha)...and now I will apparently need to eat one shred of lettuce and half of a cherry tomatoe per day and attempt to sleep while climbing the Stairmaster from here on out.

Lastly, on a more serious note, for the Depression I already have to be magnified might just throw me into that dreadful group of individuals known as "emo". And I don't mean the real version of emo characterized by music from the 80's that was the epitome of deeply passionate lyrics and romantic bitterness. I'm talking about this New Age kind of crap "emo" where it's cool for guys to wear girls jeans and cut themselves because they have so much rage and angst at, you know, 13 years old (living in the suburbs with caring parents and shopping sprees and the latest iPhone)...with thick black eyeliner and writing sappy poetry about the rain and how it melts their soul.

My appointment is on May 7th. Until then I guess I will be left with the thought of never having a little me running around and instead, will need to deal with being a 50 pound heavier version of myself, sweating to death every 20 minutes while attempting to talk myself off the ledge of my building where I refuse to let my non-boyfriend touch me since I'll have tumbleweeds rolling across the barren desertness of my vag.

Menopause, at 27? SOUNDS GREAT!

I Thought the 3rd Time Was Supposed To Be a Charm...

As I sit here on my bed, 1/3 in shock, 1/3 depressed and 1/3 so furious I want to run down the street with a baseball bat smashing anything breakable...I guess I just have to say flat out:

I FUCKING HAVE CANCER...AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, of course my mother keeps saying that we don't know "for sure" what's happening - but I know it is. There is a new nodule in my one lung and an existing one that grew in my other. I'm not sure which one is which. They're both small. But I guess life just had to throw it in BOTH instead of just one for shit's and giggles. Because why would I really only need to worry about one, right? Both would just be more fun!

All I know right now as I stare glassy eyed at this computer screen through my xanax fog of half awareness is that there are apparently a team of both old and new doctor's deciding what will be done to me now. Too bad it's not closer to Halloween because I feel like an appropriate costume choice would be "Lab Rat". Do they sell that in stores or would I have to create that selection myself, I wonder?

Most likely, my biggest nightmare through this whole Cancer bullshit is that I will have to wind up getting some form of chemo. I find it hard to believe they would decide on operating AGAIN when I just basically had a year's worth of surgeries and they would have to cut open both of my lungs instead of just one. But who knows.

Because it's Friday there are a few lovely things I need to add:

• Happy weekend to me!
• I will need to go through the whole weekend not knowing what my outcome will be (I feel as though this is always the case with me for some God forsaken reason).

This "team" of however many doctors who are deciding my fate will probably have some sort of conclusion for me by Tuesday. Yes, Tuesday. That's four days from now, in case you couldn't figure it out. Sooo...if you happen to call me, text me, see me, etc...and you ask me something like, "What are you doing tonight?" I might respond with something along the lines of, "I ate a pineapple for breakfast," being that my diet over the next four days will consist of alcoholic beverages, handfuls of xanax and most likely nothing else.

All I really have to say about all this is that I was seriously hoping for some sort of break...gap...lull...in this war against the Evil Big C. I'm two months shy of when this all started up for me again and although most of the people who know me would describe me as being strong, there comes a time when things just reeeeaally start to wear you down a bit. You know what I mean?

My last blog was all about the joys of having both sides of my body (still) aching from the last surgeries I had. Let's say they do decide to operate again...hmm. I'm just really wondering if they design specially made (semi-attractive) bra's for women with tits as big as mine that apparently can't seem to get rid of the fucking disease that's slowly eating away at my lungs little by little. Maybe this should be a new venture for me? "The Cancer Bra: For Well-Endowed Women Who Find Themselves Tugging Down the Band of Their Bra Due to Recent Surgery."

I think the thing I might be dreading the most about this whole ordeal (aside from losing these beautiful locks of hair on my head) is filing for Disability AGAIN!!! I don't know if I can handle it. Would someone like to be my personal Disability filer/follow-througher? Even if I don't need chemo I might wind up losing my hair from ripping it out if I have to deal with those morons for a THIRD time. Just sayin'.

Anyway, I was really really really fucking hoping to entitle this entry, "Cancer Free Again!" But clearly my life does not work in this way. So I'll part with words I've probably said a million times before..."Here we go again."

Comfortably Numb.

Or should I say rather UNcomfortably numb. I'm not sure if it's because I've been consistently containing my knockers or if I'm wearing clothes that are too binding or what...but let me tell you, I'm sore all around my back/ribs. On BOTH sides, no less.

I've been feeling sore like this for a solid month, I'd say. I literally cannot wait to get home and run into my room to take off this evil device of torture known to the common folk as "the bra". I'm just slightly baffled at why all of a sudden I'm feeling more discomfort now then ever before.

I guess I can say that the numbness from my first lung surgery never really subsided and it is, in fact, still sore around my back. My ribs, however, have slowly but surely almost completely healed (finally). My right side - mainly the incision under my pit - has seemed to get worse as time goes by. Is this the healing process? If so, it sucks.

The line of the incision is directly under where my bra sits on all of my bra's except one. I have one t-shirt bra from Victoria's Secret that is the only semi comfortable one to wear nowadays. The sad truth about this particular bra, however, is that it is about one full cup size too small and is hot pink with black polka dots. Wearing this lovely undergarment is nearly impossible with probably 94% of my wardrobe.

So what does this mean for me? Will I have to resort to giant old lady bra's with no sex appeal whatsoever? How long will this misery last? I guess if I could handle getting my vag cut open twice and not being able to sit for months I could handle a little discomfort around my bra line.

Sorry - but if you haven't realized I'm blunt by now, you're clearly not paying much attention.

I have noticed something extremely weird though. If my left arm is slightly raised when I cough I can actually feel the exact area that was sliced through to get to my lung...and I can see it. How fucking weird is that shit! It's actually quite freak show-esque. See for yourself:

Visually, I guess I'm doing better. The redness is starting to fade and little by little my left lung incision is starting to look better. And obviously, I look fabulous in general. Ha.

I've been able to start working out again which I'm super happy about. I've been singing up a storm whenever I can which puts a huge smile on my face and in my heart. My social life has definitely been jump started again so I'm definitely having a good time. Overall I guess things are going well in the living-without-Cancer department. Hopefully the living without part stays that way.

My first CT's following my surgery are scheduled for April 18th. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I won't have to worry about healing in yet another area of my body. Until then...

"I've become...comfortably numb..."

7 Week Status.

I've made it 7 weeks since my surgery and on a whole, feel great. I started work last Monday, February 13th 2012, and let me tell you - it wasn't super fun going back. For the most part, my body feels decent for what it's endured. Because I've been (obviously) wearing a bra every day at work, the scar under my arm has been sensitive and a little sore, but manageable. I've been able to sing normally again which I'm super happy about. My incisions (cosmetically) are healing well as you can see:

Can you see the incision in my tattoo? I can't!

My second day back at work was also the day I was about to go nuts from still not receiving my first Disability payment. I received a letter in the mail stating that my claim was (FINALLY) processed as of February 1st so I was wondering why I still hadn't received anything on Valentine's Day (I was willing to forgive all my gentlemen callers for the lack of flowers and chocolate covered goodies in exchange for money in my bank account from the State of New Jersey...). A friend of mine asked if I had checked my last Disability debit card to see if they put the money on the old one. I kind of chuckled at the idea because why would I have kept a Bank of America Disability debit card with no balance on it from the last time I was on Disability? It just made no sense for them to put the money on there. By some grace of God Himself I actually kept the card and take a guess at what was on it...? Half of my money!

Where was the other half, you say? Who the hell knows! Weeks ago I received probably the fifth form from Disability requesting MORE information from my doctor that I faxed in. This was to approve the rest of my time off, I guess. I have yet to see that money. Maybe it will come after I get my first real check back from my job. Which, by the way, apparently didn't process my return date so I sat staring at a computer with no access for three days. Good times.

When filing for Disability, I also need to file for The Hartford through my job. Honestly I'm not quite sure what these people do. They don't pay me, so why do they call every third day? It makes no sense. I received a call last week stating that they approved me to be out of work up until February 6th but after that I was not approved due to not a good enough reason for staying out the extra week. Needless to say Dr. Jekyll morphed into Ms. Hyde and with as much sarcasm and snide as Erin-ly possible I fired, "I work in a professional environment interviewing complete strangers all day, every day. You're actually going to tell me the fact that I was unable to wear a bra is not good enough reason for me not returning to work?"

In reality what I wanted to tell the evil bitch on the other end of the phone was that no amount of plastic surgery could match what God gave me naturally and that they couldn't pay me to walk into my office with the characters that frequent it on a daily basis, sans brazier.

I was informed I would need to write an appeal letter once I received my rejection letter for the last week in the mail. Great! Yet another appeal I need to file. The second appeal letter that I have already written is being mailed to Medicaid due to being approved again this year, but declined against going to Sloan. You know, Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center - the WHOLE reason I filed for Medicaid to begin with. Should I have gone to Law School? Perhaps.

So with all these exciting appeal letters I get to write and pretend I'm some sort of attorney, I barely have time to write any blogs. Hence the reason it took almost a month to complete this one. But have no fear, faithful readers and friends: Erin is back with a vengeance and I'll be damned sure if you don't get your bi-weekly dose of me from here on out.

As a side note: Cancer is a fucking ugly ass whore. I was recently made aware the Big C reared it's nastiness back into the body of someone else I know who is battling. She went through so much the last time around and now another long road of chemo is ahead of her yet again. It breaks my heart that the undeserving have to deal with something so terrible. Any positive thoughts, vibes, prayers, would be so appreciated.

Till we meet again...



An "Ode" to Disability...or rather, a LOATHE to Disability.

Today is the 24th day after my surgery. Today is also the day I decided to call Disability to check the status of my claim. Or rather, to find out when I would be receiving my first check.

I would like to note that during my last surgery, my first payment did not get to me until after my 8th week of being out of work. EIGHT weeks since my surgery was the FIRST time I was paid. Why, you ask? They stated that they did not receive the Employer Section of my paperwork. The same Employer Section that was faxed along with ALL the other items of paperwork. But I digress.

After finally being connected to the idiot that picked up my call after 10 minutes of waiting (the other two times I tried calling over the last week my call was automatically disconnected after hearing a recording that said, "All call center representatives are busy at this time. Please try again later." Click.) who seemed to have an attitude as soon as I gave my Social Security Number, I was told AGAIN that they were waiting on my Employer Section. The SAME section that was faxed ONCE AGAIN along with aaaaallllllllllll the other forms the day after my surgery.

I have no words.

Is this a joke?

I told this asshole that in all honesty, I could not even believe what I was hearing being that 7 months ago I was on Disability for the first time in my life, and was told the exact same thing...when it was a blatant LIE. This was now the second time I was ever on Disability and now the second time I was told my Employer Section was missing.

Now, I just need to ask. Is this only my life? I find it nearly impossible to believe that these kinds of things could only happen to me over and over again. Could it just be coincidence that one particular page in my packet of paperwork that was all faxed at the same time went mysteriously missing for the second time? I just can't seem to wrap  my head around this possibility.

Is it incompetence? Is it a conspiracy on Disability's part in order to delay paying? What would happen if I never called? Never receive the money OWED to me? I just don't understand.

Sometimes I just feel like it's not enough to be blessed with the curse of having Cancer. It's like everything that goes along with "living" while you're going through having the disease makes it almost impossible for you to survive it with a little sanity.

If you need to find me, I'll be talking to an inanimate object in my padded cell.

Follow-Up Visit

Last Wednesday, January 18th, was my follow-up visit since my surgery. It is with great pleasure that I can actually report that everything was (almost) as smooth as a baby's bottom. My appointment with my doctor was at 10:30am so they told me to arrive by 10:15am for my xrays. I was in and out of my xrays by a little after 10:20am and in the room waiting for my doctor around 10:45am. Miracle of Jesus? I think so.

When my doctor came in the room I met him with a grin from ear to ear telling him what a fantastic job he did with the placement of the incision through my tattoo. He smiled and said, "Yes, you reminded me for the fifth time to be careful with it as you were crying before we put you under..." I mean, I told the stupid lady I wasn't drugged up enough while being wheeled into surgery! What the heck did they expect.

He handed me a report of the operation which I don't remember getting from my follow-up the last time. He informed me that my margins were clean and that my xrays looked great - I am healing well and properly. As I read through the pages I saw the Pathology report. It stated that both masses were, in fact, Leiomyosarcoma. So, the "questionable" one they weren't sure about turned out to be Cancer as well. I'm glad he removed both.

When I asked how much of my lung he removed he said, "Minimal - about 2%." I was super happy. He originally told me it would be more like 5-10% before the surgery. Since my mother couldn't be at the appointment she armed me with a list of additional questions to ask. One being how much metal I had in my body in case of MRI's in my future. What I was unaware of this whole time (and perhaps it was foolish of me not to realize but whatev) was that I had/have many staples in both my lungs from the surgeries. He said during many or most surgical procedures people wind up with these. It still seems odd to me to have staples in there. He basically said they were like a normal staple you would see on a sheet of paper. I just find it weird to think about - that a staple is holding parts of my lung closed. Wouldn't the tissue rip? Clearly, I'm no doctor.

Because it seems stupid to me to travel into NY for my CT Scans following this being that the only reason I would do so is to meet with a doctor afterwards (and since my current doctor is my lung doctor, technically he wouldn't really be "examining" me by looking at my healed incisions), I asked if he would care if I went to the NJ Sloan from now on for my tests. God willing they will be clean moving forward and I won't have to worry about getting bad news delivered to me again. However, the only time I ever went to the Basking Ridge location was the CT that showed the tumor in my left lung...soooo, I don't have the fondest memories of that place. I can only hope this last year was the worst and it'll be better from here on out. One can dream, no?

As I was making my CT appointment for April, I made sure they were for my abdomen, pelvis and chest - the same CT's I've literally been receiving for over three years now. The girl (most definitely younger then me) behind the desk tells me that they were only ordered for my chest. Um, why?

I had a little tiff with some other older chick behind the desk when she stated with a slight attitude that it was all my doctor ordered after I calmly said that I had never had this issue before. "It's not an issue, I just need to clarify." I turned to my dad while she was still standing there and asked if I said anything with an attitude because I thought I was just simply asking a legitimate question. Why must there always seem be someone unpleasant that I wind up speaking or dealing with? I just don't get it. There is no way in hell I would accept only getting CT's done of my chest when the ONLY reason they found the tumor in my lung after almost three years of being Cancer free was due to a test that technically I didn't need. My Cancer was vaginal - technically I should've only been getting pelvic CT's done. My (extremely smart) doctor that performed my second surgery of the margins around where my initial tumor was removed in my vag ordered the additional CT's knowing that the lungs were an area it could possibly show up in again. There is no way in hell I would go without getting all three areas scanned. The additional scan saved my life - in my eyes, anyway.

After some discussion the three were ordered and my appointment was made for April 18th in NJ. Now comes the waiting period. Last time around I was hoping to start my "Cancer Free" weekly/monthly/yearly counting but clearly that didn't work out too well for me. Hopefully I'll be able to do it this time.

When New Year's 2011 came I said to my friends that this was going to be a good year - it had to be. At that time I thought 2010 wasn't the greatest of years and 2011 could only get better. Ha. I obviously don't have very good intuition when it comes to things like that. This New Year's I was hesitant to even think silently in my head that it had to be a better year. Look where it got me last year! Sometimes it's difficult to stay positive when it seems like you keep getting kind of beat down. I'm trying to look at this last surgery go-around with a smile...and I am, I really am. But what's next? I'm a little afraid to find out. But I guess it is what it is and I'll take it as it comes to me. What else can I do?

As my dad and I were leaving, I looked over and said how crazy it was that we were actually seen on time and leaving the hospital with most of the day left instead of spending hours upon hours in the waiting room. We were going down on an elevator with like, six other people. It stopped on two floors and then hit floor #2. No one got on, no one got off. The doors closed. A few seconds went by and they opened again...on floor 2. No one got on. The doors closed again. A few more seconds went by. The doors opened again...on floor fucking 2! Once again the doors closed, seconds went by, doors opened and we were still on the same floor. My foot was now in my mouth since I had obviously spoken too soon. Only me, people. Only me.

My dad and I along with a few others got off to wait for another elevator. Someone passed us and went in our elevator. Expecting to see them a few seconds later I told them it wasn't working...but wouldn't you know the doors didn't open showing the same people. They didn't open at all - because, of course, it was working now. Seeing an Exit Sign I decided to use the stairs being that we only had one flight to descend. I was greeted by someone that worked in the hospital telling me that no one was allowed to use the stairs unless they were staff. I wish I could've had an out of body experience so that I could've seen the look on my own face. Um, only staff was allowed to use the stairs? What kind of total bullshit is that? So, what if there's an emergency? I've never heard something so ridiculous in my entire life, I said with definitely not the most pleasant tone.

By this time my dad's temper was in full force and he was ranting and raving about how there's no way in hell it was possible that only people who worked in the hospital were allowed to use the stairs. We waited for what seemed like an eternity until finally, the same elevator we were originally in opened. You're kidding me, right? Needless to say it was now miraculously working and we were finally free. Well, hallelujah.

As for the healing process, I'm doing well. I still get pain from time to time but now it's just more so mending and tenderness rather then real pain. Except a few days ago I had another episode where I guess I slept wrong and woke up in an insane amount of agony as to where I could barely breathe. When I tried to take a deep breath a sharp, intense, shooting pain shot through my lung. This caused me to breathe as shallow as possible, causing my anxiety level to rise and so I immediately downed some percocets and xanax. My lovely morning breakfast cocktail of pills. Good morning!

Other then that, I attempted strapping on a bra and though it's not complete torture, it's still not a pleasant occurrence so I guess I'll have to wait a little longer to return to complete normalcy. I've also tried singing and that's not going too well. I can't hold out a note to save my life so I sound like crap but that will come back in time. In all honesty, compared to the last recovery this one is a walk in the park. I'm just looking forward to being able to drive myself (they tell you you shouldn't drive for 4 weeks in case of an accident - you could be held accountable...no thank you!) places and start living normally again. I'm getting there.

Pain, Pain, Go Away, Come Again Some Other Day...

Just a word to (and from) the wise: If you have lung surgery, wait a few weeks before sleeping on your stomach for the night. When you wake up you do NOT feel refreshed.

Because I am limited to the different positions I can sleep in without being in pain, my neck and lower back have decided to hate me the last few days. This is understandable. Since I normally always sleep on my stomach it's difficult for me to sleep any other way. It's just not as comfortable. I can't pull the blankets halfway over my head any other way. There's always some weird light either from the hall or my clock or outside or whatever that somehow finds it's way to my line of vision if I'm not sleeping on my stomach. Plus, I just feel more "tucked in" my way. Therefore, I prefer my normal way of sleeping to any other which makes it hard for me to fall asleep to begin with aside from dealing with being in pain as well.

Last night I decided that perhaps I was strong enough to sleep my favorite way. I propped myself up a little from the bed with my body pillow on my right side and was out in minutes. When I woke up around 5:30am to the sound of my dogs running to the kitchen for food, I found myself gasping for breath as if an elephant was sitting on my chest. I stood up and could barely breath. That was fun! I wound up using my lung machine thing and walking up and down the hallway in order to convince myself that my lung had not collapsed in my sleep.

I wound up taking a few more pain pills and fell back asleep practically sitting up, on my back. I am just now starting to feel like I can take deeper breaths again without difficulty. Needless to say, I highly doubt I will be sleeping on my stomach again anytime soon. This was the most pain I've been in since the surgery, in my lung.

Today marks a week since the surgery. It feels like time is already flying by. Most of the discomfort and pain I've been enduring has been coming from the incisions and up in my shoulder since there is a lot of pressure up there. This morning was really the first time I felt real pain in my lung. It is not something I would want to happen again so I guess I will just be stuck sleeping in an uncomfortable position, with my neck and lower back sore each day. I guess this is a fair trade-off for being able to breathe.

The Healing Process.

As I sit down to write this, I am 5 days out from surgery. Last time, I would've been in the hospital this long so I can't help but be thankful that for the bulk of the last 5 days I have been on my couch rather then trapped at Sloan. I am also thankful that most of the time I have been home, I have been mobile and able to do a few other things aside from staring at the TV day in and day out. Last time, I thought I had somehow woken up in Hell and it was made to look like the inside of my house.

Because the weather has been ridiculously nice the last few days, my dad asked if I wanted to get out of the house for a little and join him in going to the food store yesterday. I know, I couldn't contain my enthusiasm for this a-mazing outing either. But alas, I managed to stop jumping up and down in excited hysterics and threw on some clothes that didn't make me look like complete trash.

As I looked in the mirror, prepared to slap on another coating of moisturizer on my chemically peeled face, I noticed that the peeling was almost gone in most places. Good thing because I was starting to wonder if I should call Sloan and tell them I needed some skin graphs aside from my xrays on the 18th. Now let me be clear - this is 5 days of nonstop peeling. And when I say nonstop, I mean it. I have been doing nothing but coating my face with moisturizer and Vaseline since I've been home. That's pretty bad.

The ride in the car wasn't super horrific but little bumps weren't pleasant...plus my dad likes to jam on his breaks CONSTANTLY so the jerking back and forth wasn't the best either. Oh well, at least I got out for a little although I'm not sure if I plan on doing it again anytime soon.

The crinkling in my neck is completely gone - woohoo! Whatever that was, I hope it doesn't come back. How weird.

I was able to take my first full shower earlier today. I had to do most of the washing with my left arm as it's still extremely difficult to lift my right one. Other then being totally out of breath from washing my hair and shaving my legs, it was great. I finally took the bandaging off my tattoo completely - not only because it's healing but because my skin is starting to (EW) rip due to having that freakin' medical tape on it all the time. I want to puke just thinking about it. There is a small wound above the incision from just that - as you can see:

But seriously - how happy am I that the incision is right inside the lines of my mic?! It'll heal as a scar but so what. At least it's not completely across the entire thing or going vertically or something. This makes me very happy.

As for the other incisions, the tape is going to be on them for a while. There are large wounds under there and I don't want to mess with that. The last time I waited till the last possible second to take that off. Yuck.

So far, so good, I guess. Little things still obviously hurt that I probably shouldn't be doing. For example, my dog Lily jumped on my bed to sleep with me yesterday morning and because she was on my right side, I guided her - legit guided, not lifted - to my left and wound up paralyzed for a few seconds from the pain. I guess I should just get used to trying to take it easy for a few weeks even though I feel a lot better then I did at this time the last time around. Until then, pj's and TV-watching it is.