A Topic Touchier than a Vatican Summercamp

It's nearing Christmas, friends- the most wonderful time of the year. I know I have a lot to be thankful for this year, and it's the first Christmas I can remember in a long time that I was this excited about the whole thing. It's tough sometimes, when we're so wrapped up in our own little lives and all the things we have to get accomplished and bought and wrapped, it's easy to forget all the people around us who have it so much worse. People who are alone this Christmas, people who are sick, people that have no family and no loved ones, and people who are cold and hungry. We're so quick to forget those little miracles in everyday life that we don't have to ever worry about. They are there every day, so we forget what a blessing it is just to have friends and a warm bed at night. When I was in the hospital, what I wanted more than anything else was to be able to go outside and get in a car and go somewhere. That was the biggest deal to me, more than feeling sick, more than the hospital food, more than the loss of privacy, more than anything. I wanted just a little taste of freedom back. That total loss of freedom was horrendous to me, and I promised myself I'd never take it for granted again. Everyday now when I walk to the car, I try to think how lucky I am just for that. Just to have two legs, just to not be connected to an iv pole, just to be home.
Seems preachy, I know, but I just want to remind you this holiday that there are so many little things that could be taken away from us that we need to remember to be thankful for.
That's enough of the soapbox. Enjoy your pumpkin pie and be good to each other out there.

-L

No Woman, No Cry

I guess everybody has those days- you know, those days when nothing seems to go right, when the bad outweighs the good, when all you want is one little thing and you get everything else you don't want. I went to Parkland yesterday for the first time as a patient. I went alone, because I insisted on being alone, I insisted on being dropped off because I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself. But Parkland isn't like the other hospitals I've been in, it's more like ER. It's the poorest and the sickest people who have no where else to go. And sitting there for hours upon hours just waiting to be seen, watching all the sick people, hundreds of them just sitting and waiting, it wore on me. That, along with the anemia, I guess, I don't know. It sounds dramatic, but it's just a really depressing place. People seem to have the soul sucked out of them in that basement, lined up in chairs, coughing and crying and bleeding and throwing up, waiting, just like me, waiting for hours, waiting to feel better somehow. So many people, and I should have just felt blessed because there were so many so much sicker than me. I thought I was strong enough: to go and handle it alone and not have to worry about what it would do to me mentally, and I don't know what happened exactly, but I just started crying. I cried and cried and cried. I cried more than I have cried since I found out I had cancer, and I guess maybe that's why I cried so hard. Maybe I realized, looking at all those sick people, just how sick I could become. Maybe sitting next to the lady with lung cancer made me think about how this cancer could spread. Maybe I was dealing for the first time with how serious this all is. I don't know. I don't really even know what to say about it, and, of course, I thought about not letting anyone know how I cracked like an egg, but I guess that I hope by sharing it, somebody else with this kinda situation knows that there will be days when you're just so tired, just so ready to feel better, just so tired of being sick and so ready for the whole thing to be over. And I guess that's ok. I guess everybody needs those days when they just need to let it all out and be sad about it and give themselves a chance to get over the suckiness of it.
I feel better today. I came home and had a couple of glasses of wine and some mashed potatoes. My scar started burning, so I assumed Voldemort was near, and thought it might be best to just hit the sack early. I took a shower and got a good night's sleep. I guess I feel lucky again to be as well as I am. My PET scans all came back clear, which means, conclusively for the first time basically, that the cancer hasn't spread. It's the best Christmas present I could ever ask for, and the truth is, I am a lucky girl, even when I don't feel like it sometimes. And maybe this whole thing will just somehow make me stronger. That's all I'm asking for: a higher purpose in all this. A reason to learn. And a better day tomorrow.

A Reaction Fraction

Bobby here, guest report #2.
Just a quick little story from the other side of the room. This story is requested by our lovely Lori Lee.


So, our favorite melanoma patient has had some low numbers lately, (see anemia and low blood count). What does that mean to you and me? Well good and bad. The good is it makes our girl talk and act like she's dropped a few Quaaludes along with some Mad Dog 20/20 (grape drink!). She's lots of fun, yes, more than normal. The bad is fatigue, yes more than normal, muscle cramps & spasms, chest pains, "foggy memory" (I love that song), lots of easy bruising, etc etc. I told the cops I didn’t beat her, but whatever. She burned the toast. SHE BURNED THE DAMN TOAST. She deserved it.

Onward we go. Numbers were low enough to skip an Interferon treatment and let the ole' body build some immunity. Well, last night was the chemo treatment after the injection vacation. Let's say reaction would be all capitals, as in REACTION. Our girl got a wicked fever, as in 102 degrees fever. Horses get shot for less. Anyway, it was a long night. I remember falling asleep around 6 am today. Lori called the on call oncologist who said go to the emergency room.

Now there’s a saying I’ve heard and it goes “No one knows your body better than you”. No perverts here people, I’m being serious. Lori went ahead and took some more Tylenol and a “tepid” shower, and the fever eventually broke and all is well and she got some great sleep.

This happens semi-occasionally, I think last night was one of the more serious. It’s gotta be no fun going through this, so send your love to Lori.

On a funny note, Lori was FREEZING last night (see fever above) and I should’ve taken a picture because she had on the following:
One pair of socks with a slot for each toe
One pair of socks on top of that
One pair of pajama bottoms (flannel)
One wife-beater
One heavy duty sweatshirt
One Flickerstick ski cap
One blanket (acquired from a local hospital)
One comforter
One comforter on top of that
And she was still freezing.

At one point, when she finally passed out, I had to put in a prop for a picture. She looked too gangster to pass up the opportunity.

Lori makes it all look easy but even last night was tough for her. It’s a reminder of how tough she is and how great it’s going to be once she’s done with treatment.

Fun is fun and serious is serious. Last night was a little bit of both.
Bobby

I'm Just Here for the Ativan

Well, for those of you who don't know, Thanksgiving was a blast, just awesome. Bobby and I both got our first annual Thanksgiving lapdances, (thanks to Amanda), and I just don't know how you can go wrong with that. The game, although we lost, (as everyone knew we would), was actually really close, and Kelly's Thanksgiving dinner had the best dressing and pumpkin pie known to man, plus Uncle Jeff's circus going on outside was fun and entertainment for everyone.

Had chest pains on Saturday, along with some serious leg spasms and cramps that would put polio to shame (okay, not really). The ER Doc gave me ATIVAN to help with all of it. OMG. It's like liquid pleasure, and by that I mean it's a tablet and it took away most of the nausea and most of the muscle stuff, too. Good stuff. I mean real good stuff. Like, I want to get it's name tattooed on my chest (or other places).


Lots of exciting stuff coming up... went to Parkland today, and of course, now I feel more greatful than ever. There's a lot for all of us to be thankful for, kids. In the waiting room, we sat next to a planet of the apes lady, who cussed out 3 of 4 social workers out while we were there. We didn't have popcorn, but it was entertaining enough.
My doc told me to wear a mask while I went inside the hospital, which I did like the good cancer patient I am. My advice to you is if you ever need to clear a hallway or waiting room, walk in with a mask on. I swear, you'd think I had "Bird Flu" written across my forehead. I've never been stared at like that, and anyone who knows me knows that I draw enough attention to myself that THAT's a big deal. What people didn't get was I was protecting ME from Them, not the other way around. (like I'm gonna care if I give the hospital SARS!?!?) It was funny nonetheless. And there was tons of tagging in the bathroom. Who goes to a hospital to write on the walls? My favorite tag was "F**k all you hatters out there!" Yeah, those hatters can be a real drag. The anemia has made me so light-headed and such a space cadet lately that I've been laughing like I've been breathing ether, funny as hell. I think people around me were actually getting a contact high.

Anyway, things went well and I'll try to be a little more regular on the blogs. Everybody hollar at me when you get a chance.

-L

My other ride is Miss Melanoma

Getting ready for Thanksgiving and the big Texas A&M game. I mean, yes, we're gonna lose (again) this year, but does anybody go to College Station to really see who is going to win the big game? It's a good time all around, though, and I get to visit my old stompin grounds: the Dixie Chicken, the Dry Bean Saloon, the College Station police department. I'm excited and ready to give myself a reason to throw up.
The plan is to have Thanksgiving dinner with Dad (see above) and the family , which I'm also excited about. (Check out the new tatt on his hand.) It's great to have friends that are like family to you, that you actually get excited about seeing during the holidays.
Tuesday was the big 31 (can you believe it?) and I had a great one. I had chocolate cake at midnight with candles and everything. One of my presents was getting my first pedicure since the surgery, and I think it turned out pretty cute. Spent hours playing House of Dead at Dave & Busters, which made my little queasy friend all motion sick. That's okay, though, because the Dramamine was a good addition to the party. Also went up in "The Ball," and had two of the strongest vodka & tonics ever, which made the rest of the evening STELLAR. I was amped just to be feeling so good. Then went down to July Alley, where the bartender hit on me so hard my head was spinning. Hey, I may have cancer, but I still got it. And by "IT" I mean cleavage. Anyway, that's it for now. I'm working on some more promotions for local stuff & I'll let you know how it goes. Enjoy your pumpkin pie if I don't talk to ya!

-L

What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's ALL ABOUT?

The scans are coming! The scans are coming!
So the scan results are in, and they're all good. The MRI, the bone scan, and the CT scan were all negative (which is positive!), no spread of cancer as evidenced. Who's a happy camper? Your mama is.
It's been a crazy few days since I posted last time. Saturday I came dangerously close to passing out in the shower, i.e.- I started to black out and then laid in the bottom of the shower for twenty minutes trying to recoup, which in reality meant I just thought about the soap scum and all the hair in the drain. Then I went into wretching mode, which really meant that I just transferred my attention to how badly the toilet needed to be cleaned. Finally I called Bobby in, after I had taken off all of my clothes and was laying on the tile, where Bobby kept saying, "Um, oh God, don't lay there, um, Lori, oh... eww, gross." Later I was informed that this was a floor where "countless girls have hurled and numerous guys have pissed anywhere but the toilet." At the time, though, you know how it is: you just want cold tile against your body. Oh, the porceline god, we bow down to you.
So I took a Vicodin, and if you know me at all, you know that it had to be some serious f**king pain for me to do that, but I did and felt better. Anything was better than going to the ER, which I seriously considered for about .72 seconds. I've come up with some theories as to what was going on, but they involve the Black Panthers and radio waves transmitted through Nancy Regan's teeth, and we just don't have time to go into all that, kids. I did speak with Dr. Vk about the incessant nausea, and he wrote me a Rx for Kytrol (sp?), which isn't covered by Medicaid, and, guess what, is $1500 for a month's supply. So the plan now is to sell my heart on the black market, but it's so tempting to buy a car instead. I found a great Impala on car soup, and it's a toss-up: nausea free for a month or a mode of transportation? You decide.

Extreme Amputation!

Girl, you knows it's true! Before and after photos for all of you that have been requesting them. Notice how chunky that right foot is compared to the left one... yeah, that's a difference in size 6 and 1/2 and a size 8. It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside; and shoe shopping, for that matter. Hey, you can't say I don't have character.

The World Looks Mighty Good to Me

Went to the YMCA today, they have a program for people on Disability to join at a reduced rate, and I think I'm gonna. It's been months since I've been able to work out, and the last dr. appointment with Dr. Bietsch I got official clearance. They said to start out slow, walking just a block or two a day at first, but I'm pretty sure I'm doing that already. They said the more active I am, the more my leg is gonna swell, but I can't be this out of shape. It's making me crazy. Tom Cruise crazy, which is not to say I'm Courtney Love crazy yet, but lets not press our luck, kids.
Anyway, I'm gonna start walking and hopefully get up to running again, and I'll add up my miles to see how long it takes me to get to marathon status- 26.2 miles. I'm gonna do it, but it may take a while- i.e., all of you will be grandparents. So there you go. That's it for now, monkeys. Let's be safe out there.

-L

P.S. Big news coming soon about a short film you're gonna wanna see. Stay Tuned!

Sweet Home Melanoma

Here's what I got for you today: I went to Gilda's club tonight, and there were about 6 people that came to the living with cancer suppport group. I can't tell you what it's like, being around all these women with cancer that handle it so unbelievably. It is just an inspiration to hear them talk. I'm having trouble articulating it tonight, but just trust me that they are inspiring just to know, and I feel blessed for the experience. Blessed, I tell you. Word.

Learn all the rules. Then break them.

Wow, quite the weekend, and I spent a lot of it with Bobby. What can I say about Bobby? If I started typing now, I'd still be sitting here in a year typing about him- that's how awesome this guy is. That's how blessed I am just to have him as a friend, and being more than that, really getting to know him and falling for him- it's been amazing. He's always there, that's what really gets me. He's ALWAYS there with a kind word and a pick me up, he's always saying the most incredible things to me. A lot of times I think about how he deserves so much better than this- than having a girl with cancer... and I just wish I could run away to an island and just deal with this all by myself. But anyway, that's not the point. A lady in my group tonight told me that I don't want to be loved, because I don't want the people around me to feel the pain that I'm going through. I'm not really going thru any pain; the chemo is more an inconvenience than anything else. But the thought itself blows my mind. Really, I can not describe it, but you have to trust me. Anyway, here's what Bobby and I were talking about today:

So we're sitting around talking about our respective high schools, and he asks why I didn't go to my 10 year reunion. I'll be honest, because I was honest with him, I know I've done a lot, but I feel like I haven't accomplished my "big thing" yet. That's what I told him, and I meant it. Do you ever feel that way? Like you were born to do something big, something great, and you just haven't done it yet?
You should've heard Bobby go on and on about how wrong it was for me to say that. He says the craziest things, said today that other people look at me the way I think about the nurses I come across. I don't know, I don't see it, but it's not the point. What is the point? Simply this: That it made me think a lot about life and about destiny and about what it's all about. What if THIS is what it's all about? Today, right now, this moment. Everything in my life- all I've learned, everyone I've known, mistakes made and paths taken - all of it lead up to this moment, all of it was because of what I'm supposed to do today. It's a mind-boggling thought, but it's not too big to wrap my brain around, and here's why: because part of me believes it. Part of me believes that my whole life has been leading up to where I am now, to this experience, to melanoma. It's the big thing I've been destined to do with my life. I've always known I was supposed to do something big, and I finally feel like I've chipped the iceberg on what it is. This is part of it, too. This blog, and all of you reading it. It's crazy but true. It's just a tiny part of the something bigger I know I'm supposed to do with my life, one of the little steps that will hopefully lead to me making a huge difference. Bobby and I only went on one date before I was diagnosed, and he says that's no coincidence. He says we were meant to go through this together, to beat all this together and work together to make this a bigger purpose. I don't know, but it seems to make sense sometimes. And so, because I love an inter-active blog, :) I encourage all of you: be a part of this bigger thing with me. Tell everyone you know about this site, email anybody who knows anyone else. It's the only way that people will find out about the dangers of melanoma, about the insane easiness that can be prevention, about the risks to people that are just as young as you and me. Help me to be something bigger, help me to make this whole disease something that wasn't experienced in vain. It would mean a lot to me, and it could help so many others.

Thanks for the love,

-L

Miss Melanoma - LIVE! (sort of)

So kiddos, here's a new twist to add to the fun. Video! That's right, campers, you read it here first: it's my first video blog. There'll be more, of course, in between the EVER engaging text blogs. So grab your party hats and click on the image to the right (no, your other right) to start the good time, and thanks again for dropping by. (hint: You need Quicktime to view this- Bobby said to tell y'all this. Whatever that means.)

-MM (LL)

p.s. I hate my voice on tape! I promise it's not like this in real life. Ok, maybe it is.

What would Scooby Doo?

Here's what I'm thankful for today:
1. I'm thankful that my friends are still funny, I'm still cute, and Bobby still hasn't seen me poop on myself.
2. Even though my stools are looser than a Quaaluded Tara Reid at a USO show, we haven't reached Ebola-like symptoms yet, and that's got to be good.
3. I'm thankful for my opposable thumbs, that I still have a little change to give to the homeless, and that the monkey in my closet hasn't come after me yet.
4. I'm thankful that I still have my hair, even though I could use a little help with that whole shaving thing. But hey, it's better than unexplained hair growth. Chickstaches aren't cute.
5. I'm so thankful- SO THANKFUL- that I'm home everyday and that I don't have to be in the hospital. I mean, you have no idea.
6. I'm thankful that I have people around me who email and come to see me and check my journal simply because they care how I am. And I'm thankful that most of them have stopped calling me Spongebob Squish-pants.
7. Even though there was a point I would've taken a doctor with a degree from Sally Struthers school of As Seen on TV, I've been lucky. So I'm thankful for all the amazing things my doctors have done for me all throughout all this, for the care I've received, and for how lucky I've been.
8. I'm thankful for the things that I accomplish everyday.
9. I'm thankful that I don't have a rash that covered me from head to toe in tiny little chickenpox bumps. My bumps. My bumps. My lovely little lumps. Check it out.
10. I'm thankful that this is Melanoma Stage III instead of Stage IV or V of anything else.
And the number 11 reason that I'm thankful is:
11. I may not be able to work, but at least I don't have to wear a visor and a nametag.

Afternoon delight

Just a quick note to keep everyone posted, or blogged... I've updated my www.MissMelanoma.com site with several pics, including one from Halloween. Also, there's a new Book Review page that will be coming soon, and, if I get on it, a Lymphadema page and a Friends of Cancer Patients page should be added, too. If you know me, you know that I believe in the power of procrastination, so feel free to get on my sack about these so I actually get them done. And don't forget to check the fundraising page for new items all the time. That's sarcasm, right there, kids. It's my Anti-Drug, kinda like crack, and I'm a bad mother shut-your-mouth.

If making fun of people was against the law, I'd be a lifer

(Meet my Uncle Stan, whose parents were part hippo.)

It's been a while- quite a bit of time actually- since I was having such a good day that I didn't want to go to sleep. When you have those days, and you know what I'm talking about- you don't want them to end. You want them to go on and on and just keep getting better. I was in that kind of mood last night when I laid down to go to sleep. I was having the best day I'd had in so long, laughing like I hadn't laughed in weeks, and just being so happy that I'd had the day that I had.

A lot of it stems from the fact that I don't work right now, and by "work" I mean "smoke" and by "now" I mean "crack." I've got a couple of projects (porn) I'm working on, I try to keep the webpage fresh, I keep in contact with friends and people I used to work for... but I'm not productive like I used to be, I guess. I'm tired a lot. REALLY tired; and I get tired of being tired, but there's not so much I can do about it. Tired. So tired. Like a happy full-time Sherwin Williams paint huffer tired. Sleep study tired. Nick Nolte in mug shot tired. Anyway, the medication makes me so drowsy (see tired) sometimes, and my immune system sucks, so I catch every little thing, and the chemo has made me anemic, and I'm just worn out from the chemo, too, most days. And this whole time I've been beating myself up for not doing more, for not getting up earlier, for not being more productive. And yet the more I try, the more tired I feel and the more I sleep and it's just been a never-ending self-defeating battle.

Which is why I joined Gilda's club. I didn't really know what that was going to mean to me, but last night I went to my first function there. Here's what I got out of it: the club itself was established by Gene Wilder after Gilda Radner died. She had been connected with a group of cancer patients and survivors on the west coast, and when she went back east to live, that sort of support group was pretty much non-existant and she had tried to recreate the same type of network there. She continued to try to build that sort of support until she died, but was never able to. So Gene Wilder worked on this after her death, and now there's Gilda's Clubs all across the U.S.

So just walking into the place , I knew that I would be surrounded by all kinds of people who knew what I was talking about; and, of course, they did. But to be able to just vent and say, "This really sucks- and people just don't understand- have got it all wrong- I have no control over most of this stuff" and all of them just nodding and agreeing and saying, "Dude, we've been there."
It blew me away what it felt like to have advocates all around me that I'd never even met before, and what further blew my mind was these people were just amazing examples to me on how to handle life. It was like being in the midst of synergy. It was an experience I'll never forget, and one that I feel so blessed to have had. Sometimes when stuff sucks, you come across people and places that make you realize what a divine plan is, and that there are reasons for things that we'll never understand until we encounter the lessons we're meant to learn. That's what Gilda's club was to me last night, and I want to show my appreciation for it by being a part of something so good. Did I mention they make kick-ass pink lemonade? Anyway, my point is this: non-profits mean a lot when you're on the other side of them, and I encourage all of you to take part in one before you really need their help.

Besos.

-L

Peace.

I'm what Willis was talkin' about

The big news is I'm getting my own place. I've been working the pole for a while and I'm now financially ok to move on and I'm ready and excited. I've been staying with a very good friend of mine up until now, but for a while I've thought I should be on my own, and creative differences (along with my meth lab) have brought us to this point, which I think we're all pleased about. And that leads me to my next point, in a very round about way.

When I was in the hospital, I read a bio on this girl with melanoma who said that one of the things she hated most about having it was the scar on her arm and how she felt she was continually discriminated against and judged for it. When I read it, I'll be honest with you, I thought the girl needed a good stiff, uh, drink (or poke). And I thought she was feeling sorry for herself. I'm not sure that I still don't believe that. This week, though, I've realized just how scared of cancer people really are. I guess I knew that before now. I mean, I was scared of my Dad's cancer. But still, somehow I'm surprised when people I've been friends with for years drop off the radar. So here's what I got for you, today: if you have melanoma, or any other cancer, for that matter, you're probably not going to feel any different from when you didn't have it. But having it means people will associate you with a very scary, very real disease. Different people will deal with that in different ways, meaning sometimes they'll distance themselves from you. Other people will drive you nuts trying to run your life because they don't know how to deal with not being able to control your illness. And you'll lose people. It hurts, but it happens.

If you know someone with cancer, just remember, they want to be treated just like you treated them before they had cancer. They don't want you to save them or to change them or fix everything. They just want their friend back.


I truly believe I've been chosen to have this disease. It's definately changed my life, and I'm not going to say I've enjoyed having diarrhea for the last 3 months, but I have learned more about life and enjoying it and valuing the little things than I ever could have without it. It has made me love my life and the people in it and I appreciate all I've learned from it. I'm high on life, people. And by life, of course, I mean glue. And I hope you are, too.

My Goal is for the words MissMelanoma.com to be thrown around more than a drunken dwarf at a biker rally.

So today, I thought everybody might enjoy knowing the contents of my morning trailmix and afternoon cocktails. This is good stuff, I swear. Okay, so remember the rash? Oh, yes, the rash. Well, it comes back with every chemo injection. So that requires Zyrtec in the morning and Benadryl in the evening. Now, keep in mind, I take the Zyrtec when I get up in the morning, which gives me about 30 minutes before I'm so drowsy I want to go back to bed. But it's a nice, warm, sleepy feeling, so how can I complain? I also take Mucinex morning and night, which tastes like battery acid, by the way, so I don't recommend you getting a respiratory infection. Lexapro in the morning and evening also to keep the voices away :). And in the afternoon, sometimes I have to take Phenergan to kick back the nausea, so I can eat without wanted to spew it all over the person next to me. This pill also helps with the general nausea from taking so many pills in general, ironically enough. Phenergan knocks me flat on my patootsky, and it only takes about 20 minutes. Plus, of course, I alternate Tylenol and Motrin every 4 hours to keep the fever at bay, and Aleve for the headaches (side effect of chemo). Last but not least is the antibiotic, which was originally to be taken every 6 hours, but is now down to every 8 hours because of the rash. Clendomyacin, which, of course, makes me drowsy, too. Yiezer. Who feels like a nap?




BTW, thanks to all of you out there who have been sending emails and comments and calling during these last few tough weeks. I don't know what I would've done without you.

Double Your Pleasure

Okay, so it's been a day or two and I'm starting to get back in my right mind. Who knew? I'm crazy. Did you know? I guess the point is that when I'm normal, I'm crazy, but not crazy like this. This is like Courtney f**king Love crazy. But I'm better. No really.

Did you also know that cancer patients are three times more likely than non-cancer patients to become depressed? You did? You did not. You're frontin. Well, anyway, it's true. And that's been the cause of my recent overemotional outbursts, and I'm seeing the doctor again tomorrow for a solution. I guess I've been slipping for a while and just didn't realize it, especially when I was so happy to be out of the hospital. But hey, it happens. It's bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S! I feel better just knowing why I've been so down. The Interferon has a tendency to cause depression, plus being sick in general for long periods of time make it hard to fight it. When I read through the depression screening, I was shocked that it didn't just have my name posted at the top in big red letters- that's how close the symptoms were to how I've been acting lately. Seriously. Courtney Love crazy. Girl Interrupted crazy. Angelina Jolie crazy.
I'll be really honest and tell y'all that I almost didn't post these blogs. And then I did. They are downers and kinda scary and not fun at all, but they are real and if someone out there is reading this and going through this, too, I want them to know what it's really like, and that it's still going to be okay even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it. So, that's it for now. I've got to get back to filling that vial of blood to put around my neck and adopting Asian babies with mohawks.

Jo Mama

Okay, so I read over the last post and realize how depressing it sounds; thought I'd recant and let everyone know I'm okay. I'm sure the picture of the kid in the suicide bomber costume wasn't a reasurrance to anyone.
I just never thought I'd feel this way: it's only 4 months into this thing and I'm so ready to be well again. I still have 11 months of this left, and the thought of that is sometimes overwhelming- knowing I'll be unable to work and having to protect myself from getting sick the majority of it. Today I feel pretty good, I feel like I can do this and everything is going to be okay in the end. That this is just a short-term situation and I'm hella strong; way stronger than a year of chemo. (Sorry, that was a little cocky.) The biggest thing is I just can't believe I've slipped like this and let myself get down. I guess a lot of it is that I've never really been sick, and now it seems like one thing after another. The chemo has completely shot my immune system, so I'm not only constantly fighting infection, but I catch a cold everytime someone breathes. It sounds so stupid, but I just wish I had the support I did in the beginning of this. Over time, as I've been going through this, some important people have dropped out of the picture, and I don't blame them- they have their own lives, and their busy just like the rest of the world. I don't know how and don't even really know if I want to reach out to them and say Sh*t, dude- I'm down. I need a shoulder right now. Even if I knew how, honestly, would I do it? No, because I don't want to interfere with their lives. And I'm just plain mad at myself for having ever let myself get so soft that I need someone else so badly. That's a crazy thought, I know. When you have cancer, you HAVE to rely on people. You don't have a choice. That's something I've definately learned. It's tough for someone like me who is kindof a loner by nature, because you're stuck in these situations when the people around you are the big difference in you making it or not. But I'm tired of being that way. I want to be self-sufficient again and I feel stuck. Who knows. I keep faith in the fact that through everything I've seen and had to do, I've learned tons. I learn something everyday that only cancer could have taught me. This, I don't know yet what it is to learn. I hope that it's even though it hurts sometimes when you rely on people and really let them into your heart, it's not a bad thing to do that. That's all I got for now.

-L

Now with Extreme Whitening Power

Holas muchachos, just checking in. Will start the Interferon (chemo) home injections this weekend... from everything I've seen, it's going to be easy breezy. It's been a wierd day for me- even though I've gotten quite a bit accomplished in the last couple of weeks since I got out of the hospital, I've been really down.
It's wierd, and I'm not sure what's going on. I just feel down on myself, and I don't know how to explain it or even understand it. It could be that I'm bored, I guess, or maybe it's just that my body has changed so much in the last few months and I feel like I have so little control. To be honest with you, the whole not working thing really weighs on me, too. I try to be positive about it, but I just feel like such a loser when I think about it. I'm trying to keep in mind that this is all temporary, but a big part of me knows what a long year it could be if I don't snap out of this. Anyway, I'm working on it. Think of me if you get a chance and send some positive vibes this way.

You Think You Know, But You Have No Idea

Word to your mama, kids. Had a doctor's appointment yesterday, and Dr. Vk prescribed the at-home Interferon (chemo). I ordered it from the pharmacy, and it should be in tomorrow. I'll go in to the doctor's office and the nurse will teach me how to give the shots to myself for home administration. The picc line is still in my arm, which, if you haven't seen it, means I have two tubes that come out of my upper arm. I try to keep it covered; usually, if I have spaghetti straps on or something I'll wear a bandana or scarf around it. That's good cheap fun because the bandana I wear is blue and Bobby is always saying some Blood is going to cap me and then I'll be sorry. :) Sometimes the tie slips and the tubes fall out of the bottom, and that gets lots of looks, too. When I see people staring, I like to fake a mini seizure. It's a good time.
At my doctor's appointment yesterday I had to have blood drawn, and since I have a picc line, the phlebotomist had to send me over to the Infusion center to have an RN draw it up. The Infusion center is where I would've gone had I not had to get my chemo in the hospital: it's basically a room full of Lazy Boys and people hooked up to IV's getting chemo. It was easily the saddest thing I've seen in a while, walking in and seeing 20 people, most of them with no hair, getting chemo. And looking at them, I know they feel like ass because that's how you feel when you're getting chemo, and it's pretty clear from how they're laying in the chairs. The nurses, of course, are awesome there, and lively and loud and bubbly, and it all just made me think about a million things: like how people make a living from helping people, and how amazing that is to me; it made me think of all my friends, and how I just wanted to remind them of how lucky we all are to be healthy; and, of course, how this whole thing has opened my eyes, and what I can do to pay all these wonderful people back for what they do for so many others. Only thing I can think is pay it forward. I hope all of you do, too.