D Day.

Well, the time is upon me. Tomorrow is the big day. It's 10:29pm as I'm writing this and all I can think about is that my surgery isn't until 2:15pm tomorrow. Like, could it get any worse? I guess it could have been scheduled for 5pm and then I'd REALLY be freaking out. The first thought that came to mind was that I couldn't eat or drink anything past midnight tonight. Is that slightly pathetic? I'm going to be starving! Good thing I ate a truck load of sushi tonight with some good friends.

Everyone has been asking how I've been feeling and telling me things are going to be ok. The thing that I guess no one understands is that I'm not concerned with the fact that I have Cancer again. Of course it's devastating news, that's not what I mean. I just mean that I KNOW I'll get through the having Cancer part and beat it...again. It's the recovery and hospital stay and endless needles and torture you have to endure that goes along with surgery. Especially a surgery as invasive as this. My last few surgeries sucked because I couldn't sit for 2+ weeks (not to mention not being able to have sex for DECADES - or so it felt like...) but this one...this one is going to suck some hairy balls. First of all, I hate hospitals. I hate how they smell. I hate people coming in to wake you up every 5 minutes to run some sort of blood work or tests or make you get up and walk around, etc. I hate wearing hospital gowns and having tubes sticking out of every possible body part (not to mention the wonderful tube that will be sticking out of my SPINE while I'm there...that will be fun...) you have. I hate hate HATE having a roommate - which seriously, whoever they stick me with could only pray they don't wind up with a mega-bitch like me in the bed next to them. I hate not having anyone there at night with me that I know. I basically just hate it all. It's a scary thing - even at my old age of 26.

People have been commenting that I just went skydiving last weekend and "how are you not afraid to jump out of a plane 10,000ft in the air but you're afraid of needles (or to be in the hospital alone)?" Um, perhaps because I CHOSE to do that. I think what sucks the most when you're diagnosed with something - no matter what it is - is that it's out of your control. I've heard many people ask, "why me?" when dealing with situations like this. I never have. I always felt that it was better me then someone I loved because I knew I could handle it. But what I DID always question was why it had to happen WHERE it happened...both the first time and now this time.

The two things I hated most when I was 23 were needles and OBGYN appointments. Ha. The two things I absolutely hated were the two things I was now constantly having to deal with. And now this - my LUNGS!? The most important thing other then my vocal chords that I need to sing is now infected with this malicious disease. Like, it couldn't be in my leg or something? If this isn't a test to see how much I can deal with before I crack, I don't know what is.

Anyway, my surgery is scheduled for 2:15pm tomorrow yet I have to be at the hospital at 11:15am. They said I could take A xanax in the morning but that's it. A SOLO xanax. Well all I can say is they better be prepared to be stuffing sedatives down my throat as soon as I step into that hospital because I'm going to be freaking the fuck out. It's kind of like they want you to suffer. Let's see how long we can wait to bring her into surgery before she goes postal...

So that's where I'm at. I've taken two xanax already tonight and it's now 11:07pm. I better stuff another pill in my face and eat something else - even though I feel like I'm going to explode from dinner. I'm not the most religious person in the world although I do pray quite often. My prayers for tonight will of course include all my loved ones and my normal, every day requests for a better world - but also to at least keep part of my left lung. That would be so amazing if they didn't take the whole thing. What would ALSO be amazing is that the nodule they remove from my pelvis isn't cancerous. A girl can only take so much.

Anyway, I'm trying to think happy thoughts. All I can think about when I say that is that old ass version of Peter Pan when Peter was played by a woman and they're dancing around the nursery saying, "think happy thoughts...think happy thoughts!" <-- clearly the xanax is starting to kick in. Tomorrow I'll be going to war with Cancer - as one of my good friends stated, I should walk in there with army paint on and a camaflouge hospital gown, haha! Too bad I wasn't allowed to bring my own.

See you all in 2-5 days (or more depending on my recovery time).

More holes then swiss cheese...

So, I'm out to dinner tonight with my mother for my "Last Supper" before my surgery (I guilted her into taking me for an expensive meal). On the way home she proceeds to tell me that my regular doctor called her on Friday to discuss a few things.

For all of you who actually know my mother you know that she is totally anal and OCD about almost everything in life. Therefore, I've appointed her as the contact person for my doctors. Whenever anyone calls me it's a 50/50 chance that it's going to be bad news and when it IS bad news, I'm too busy calming down my anxiety and fighting back tears to listen to half of what they're saying to me on the other end of the phone. If they call my mother, I already know she'll have a list of 37 questions in her mind to ask, carefully writing down every piece of information they give her. Unfortunately for her, she has become the barer of bad news. But I digress.

So Friday my regular doctor calls my mother to discuss my PET Scan from 6/16. The results showed the mass in my left lung, a small spot in my right lung that has been there for over a year (without change) and a new small spot on the right side of my pelvis. When my Oncologist called with these results on 6/20 she stated that because the pelvic spot was so small there was no need to worry about it and we would just monitor it moving forward. Of course, this is unsettling news to someone WITH the small spot in their body because who knows what it could develop into...if anything. Only time would tell.

I tried to push this new unknown nodule out of my mind and focus on what I already knew to be a fact - the soon-to-be removed tumor in my lung. Apparently my normal doctor called my mother this past Friday, 6/24, to tell her that instead of monitoring the nodule he was just going to remove it himself while I was already under for the lung surgery. Because it is such a small spot, he would just do Laparoscopic surgery to remove the nodule from my pelvis. My mother decided to lay this on me tonight rather then have me know all through the weekend and have it weigh on my mind. Of course I'm kind of pissed that it took so long to tell me but at the same time greatful that I had a last and final weekend of somewhat mental peace.

Because laparoscopic surgery is so minimal I'm glad they're getting the spot out even if it is nothing. Of course I'd rather get it out then wait to find out if it is, in fact, something. But seriously; way to pile on the procedures! I joked that maybe I could get a boob lift or some thinner thighs on top of everything else. I mean, why not? I'm going to have more holes then swiss cheese after everything is done anyway, why not add ANOTHER procedure to the mix? It's just another thing to semi worry about and another area of my body that will be in pain when I wake up on Tuesday. JOY!

I just keep thinking back to my first surgery and how much "fun" that was to wake up from. The lovely hospital (Riverview in Red Bank, NJ) that did my first surgery forgot to give me pain medicine before I woke up so I literally felt as if someone was stabbing me in the vagina with a butcher's knife ("forgot" is all I can come up with without saying that whoever was in charge of my pain meds was a complete MORON and should be karate chopped in the jugular several times). I woke up and immediately started screaming, "I FUCKING NEED PAIN MEDICINE!" Needless to say, by the time my second surgery came around I made it a point to tell them of my wonderful first experience and stated that if I wasn't heavily medicated when I woke up that I would probably show up with a rifle a few days later and kill everyone in sight. Because my second surgery was done at Sloan, they knew what they were doing and when it was time to leave I got out of bed and literally walked myself to the car.

I could only hope it will sort of be the same this time - at least while I'm in the hospital. I know they plan on having an epidural in for the length of my hospital stay to control my own pain meds...or at least that's what I remember them saying. We shall see. Tomorrow I find out what time my surgery will be. Nothing like waiting until the last minute, no?

I'll leave you with a picture of me going in for my first surgery - when I still thought what I had was a lousy cyst. It's funny where life takes you, isn't it? Until tomorrow...

Lung Machine

This is my lung machine - or at least that's what I call it. I'm supposed to do 10-15 exercises every hour to expand my lungs. I'm not sure who has the time to take a break every hour on the hour to do lung exercises but I've been trying my best. It's a little difficult when you work in an office with other people...especially when you work in an office with people who aren't really aware of your "situation". The other day I was sitting in the kitchen blowing into this device that looks like a Breathalyzer and a colleague from the Technical Division walks in and does a double-take at me. I could only imagine what he was thinking. Is she an alcoholic and the court system has decided that she needs to record her blood alcohol level daily? I just looked at him while my mouth was still on the nozzle and smiled as best I could. Yeah buddy, I'm an alcoholic. It's probably more believable then being a Cancer Patient. Needless to say he asked what the hell I was doing so then I had to go into the explanation of what the machine was and what it was supposed to do for me and blah blah blah.

I know a lot of people I've met that have been diagnosed have said that they don't tell people their story due to not wanting to be treated differently or the stigma that comes along with having Cancer. I feel completely different. I'm not afraid to say I have Cancer and I'm most definitely not afraid to tell them how it was found or where it has been or what I've had to go through. Honestly, I feel like it's more a badge of courage then anything else. Yeah, I've been through the trenches and look - I'm still the same me. My friends can attest to the lack of change in my sarcastic attitude and my general outlook on life. Cancer hasn't changed the way I view things. It hasn't made me look at life in a new light. I've just stayed the same.

My mother has mentioned to me in the past that she thought my outlook on life would've changed due to what I've experienced. Meaning that she figured I'd have this new, positive view that life is beautiful and whatever. I've always been pretty positive about my life and my experiences but it's not like after I was diagnosed I suddenly started getting all sappy and appreciative when I would see a rainbow or a sunset or a piece of cheesecake. I've always just taken it as this is a shitty thing that happened but shitty things happen all the time to everyone. It's just a part of life. Not to say that it's a bad thing if after something tragic happens to start seeing the good parts in life more then the bad. It's just never changed me like that.

I will say, however, that if this surgery affects my voice I might go nuts. You might find me locked up in a padded cell with no windows and my arms tied together, drooling on myself. I can say that perhaps I've started to appreciate my voice more so now then I ever have since I have a fear of losing it. Losing it or not sounding the same = the same thing to me. I might as well just not be able to speak if I start to sound differently when I sing. I'm sure some of you out there might find the humor in me never being able to speak again being that the normal volume of my voice is somewhat louder then most. Screw yourselves. I like how I sound.  :)

Singing is something I've always loved to do and just something that perhaps I always took for granted. I can definitely say that in the last week I've been exhausting my poor vocal chords to the max. As we "speak" I sound like a man. While answering the phone at work people have been calling me Aaron instead of Erin, thinking that my office hired a new gentleman in place of the normal female staff. Thanks to some very special friends I've been making some slight guest appearances at local watering holes lately, trying to overload myself with performances being that I have no clue when the next time I can sing will be. Just last night I, along with some fabulous people (love you guys) were tearing up the streets of NY until 3am belting out tunes and dominating some famous piano bars (videos soon to follow). Needless to say the fact that I haven't fallen asleep at my desk as of yet is a small miracle.

Till next time.

My story.

Hey everyone.

Welcome to life as seen through the eyes of a 26 (and a 1/2) year old female Cancer Survivor. I like to use the term "Survivor" because Patient sounds so terminal. Those close to me know my story but for those who don't, or those who just enjoy my witty and sarcastic sense of humor, I'll share what's been my life for the last 3 years up until now. I intend to give only the blunt truth while documenting my story so if you can't handle it, don't read it.

In late July of 2008 (23 years old), my then boyfriend of 5 years text messaged me saying he thought I felt "swollen" the last time we had sex. Mind you the last time we had sex was seriously like, over a week prior to this message so I wasn't sure why he was telling me days later. I told him he was nuts thinking he was talking about some sort of yeast infection - which I knew I didn't have - and continued on along my work day not really giving it a second thought. Later that night in the shower I decided to check myself. What I found was that I wasn't swollen as he had described it, but there was a hard mass about the size of a golf ball "down there." I freaked out, called my OBGYN and had an emergency visit the next morning. I was informed that this mass was in fact a cyst and that it was extremely common in women of all ages, being so close to a gland that is prone to getting clogged. I was told that I could have it removed or I could just live with it. Being so young I decided that I definitely didn't want to live with a cyst that large so I was given medication to shrink the size before having it drained. After a month of medicine, the "cyst" almost doubled in size. On August 21st, 2008 I went into the operating room for a 15 minute cyst removal and came out over 2 hours later, being informed that it turned out to be a tumor extraction that was about the size of a baseball. However, I was told that the tumor was benign and that I shouldn't worry about it. What happened next was the perpetual nightmare I still can't seem to wake up from.

Two weeks after my surgery I received the phone call that would change my life forever. The hospital where my surgery was performed could not diagnose the tumor and the mass was sent to Johns Hopkins University shortly thereafter. There, it was finally decided that I had Vaginal Leiomyosarcoma - I had cancer, and an extremely rare form on top of it all. At 23 years old, this was absolutely devastating. No one I knew around my age had cancer. All I could think of was how much longer I had to live.

After a lot of phone calls and a lot of waiting, I was able to get an appointment at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in NY. On September 22, 2008 I finally had my first visit at Sloan. I met with multiple doctors, being probed and prodded and basically living life through a heavy fog of depression and anxiety. They informed me that because my last doctor basically "scooped" my tumor out, they weren't sure if all the margins around the tumor were cancer free. My second surgery at Sloan was scheduled for October 14th, 2008 with my new doctor. Six days later, while meeting with a representative from Medicaid to discuss my deteriorating financial situation, my mother received a phone call with the best news we had heard in a while - my results were negative. I was cancer free!

Although this was great news I still had to deal with going to NY every freakin' 3 months to get CT Scans of my chest, abdomen and pelvis - along with a plethora of needles (which I have a phobia of...lucky me...) being stabbed into my arms countless times, on top of multiple doctors seeing/examining every body part I have. No room to be bashful here, folks. Xanax became my best friend during these times.

Two years went by of 3 month visits to Sloan, each time receiving CT Scans and physicals, and each time having anxiety attacks that my results would come back positive. Not to mention it's a rare event to see someone my age waiting for their appointment at Sloan. Every time I go I feel like I'm on the set of Night of the Living Dead. It's not exactly the most comforting thought.

Although there were a few small scares, everything always turned out fine. It was decided after my second year that I could move my visits to every 6 months. I was both extremely happy and extremely terrified. What if something happened within those 6 months and the tumor grew so rapidly, as it did the first time? Although I always kept this in the back of my mind, I was finally starting to feel "normal" again. I had made it almost 3 years with no signs of cancer. I decided that since my anxiety level was so super high every time I had to go for an appointment in NY, perhaps it would be better to visit the NJ facility. Two days before my appointment with this new doctor I received a call stating that he would not be in the office that day for my "consultation" but I was still scheduled for my CT Scans. Um, excuse me? I book these appointments 6 months in advance to make sure things like this don't happen. Not to mention this was not just a "consultation". I was pissed.

On June 3, 2011 I went for my 6 month visit and two days later I received a call that there was a mass in my left lung and I was scheduled to meet with a lung specialist at Sloan in NY two days later. This was not good news. I had a few times where things had shown up on my CT's before but was never asked to see another doctor. I already knew what was coming. So much for trying to stay away from NY.

On June 8, 2011 I was told that my cancer was back - the same kind; Leiomyosarcoma, a little bigger then the size of a quarter, now inhabiting my left lung, attached to an artery. As a singer, this couldn't be more heartbreaking news. I was told that until I was cut open on the operating table my doctor would not be able to tell if I would lose my entire lung or only a part of it. After getting over the fact that I was once again a Cancer Patient, that I would have a 6 inch scar on my side, would spend 5 days in the hospital and 6-8 weeks recovering, I held onto one comforting detail - I would not need treatment. This diminutive bit of relief was crushed two days later when I was informed that an appointment had been made for me to meet with an Oncologist to discuss treatment options on June 16, 2011.

With bated breath I stressed and cried and begged God that I wouldn't lose my hair. As vain as it might sound I felt that having Cancer was bad enough - I didn't want to look like I had it as well. I mean, come on. Could I catch a break? Not being in a serious relationship is one of the main reasons I didn't want to worry about being bald. How was I supposed to meet someone new, go on a few dates with this awesome flowing beautiful hair (known as a good wig) then get into the bedroom and suddenly be bald? I mean, I'm not one to embarrass easily but that's just too much to handle. I couldn't help but wonder, what would happen when I started to lose it? Would it come out in chunks? Would my eye lashes fall out? These are AWARD-WINNING eye lashes, people. A million thoughts ran through my head including - should I shave it? What would be the point where I would just feel the need to get rid of it on my own before having it fall out without my permission?

Anyway, I sat in Sloan's reception area (for over two hours due to the Oncologist running late - talk about stress) repeating over and over in my head, "please let me keep my hair" and for ONCE something good happened! My Oncologist stated that because my tumor was operable, it was decided that at this time I would not need chemo. If it was needed in the future, the type I would probably get would not cause me to lose my hair. I was ECSTATIC. I was hysterically crying saying, "I'm so happy!" It was the best news thus far. I completely forgot about the fact that I needed to stay another 4-5 hours to get my PET Scan (which would require yet another needle) plus have the hour+ drive home back to NJ. I didn't even care. I got to keep the hair that I consistently have a love/hate relationship with...yet I've informed everyone I see on a daily basis to knock me upside the head should I ever complain about it again.

So this is where I stand now, people. I am once again a Cancer Patient, working towards becoming a Survivor yet again. My surgery is one week from today on June 28th. Now the only thing running through my mind is hoping that I will get to keep at least part of my left lung instead of losing the whole thing. I need these lungs to sing!
I figured a good way to get through this upcoming journey is to document it. Maybe some "good" will come out of this whole thing...if that's even possible.

Stay tuned.