Just For Laughs

So last Sunday, I decided that I'd start a different kind of blog. A funny one, made up entirely of "gif" images, describing my cancer-killing adventures in the most entertaining way possible.

And so Cancer LOLs was born.

I hope you like it.

http://cancerlols.tumblr.com/

In no way will Cancer LOLs take the place of the WunderGlo blog, so don't even stress. Just figured I'd add another thing to my plate. HA!

Chemo Round 27

You know what? If you do something for long enough, you can pretty much get used to anything.

On Monday, I got behind the driver’s seat and cruised to Norris, eager to take a bite out of cancer during my 27^th round of chemo. Before my diagnosis, I probably could never have imagined this kind of bi-weekly routine becoming “normal,” but that’s exactly what it feels like now. 

My time at Norris went well – I knocked out my blood work last week, so I breezed into my appointment with Taline and Dr. Lenz, had some laughs and some hugs, and before I knew it, I was in my own private room and in my own private bed for chemo. I started infusing around 2pm, and I was all done and hooked up to my bag o’ chemo by 5pm. Easy as pie. Before Monday, I was a little skeptical at this whole “afternoon appointment” thing that Dr. Lenz wanted me to start doing (I am notoriously late for our morning appointments which wouldn’t be that bad in and of itself, but my fellow warriors are evidently super punctual because the day hospital is PACKED by about 10am), but I’m a believer now. This is much easier than showing up late and sleepy, then waiting for hours to get my treatment. Note to self: don’t question Dr. Lenz (most of the time, at least).

Unlike my post-Coachella Chemo Round 26, I kept myself fully hydrated before, during, and after treatment. As a result, everything went very well, especially in the poop department. I am a lucky woman to have had three surgeries where my bowels were either cut up, picked at, or seriously jostled, and live day to day with zero GI issues. To be on my 14th round of Irinotecan and to not even need an Immodium? Yeah…I’m very fortunate. And I’m very grateful. Great job, body of mine.

So now it’s Wednesday, which is typically my toughest day…but I’m feeling very good. I detached myself from my bag o’ around noon, caught up on emails, took a refreshing shower, and ate some delicious food (big shout out to the Veggie Grill for those yummy vegan hot wings). After watching lots of playoff hoops over the last couple of days, I’m itching to get to the gym tonight to get some shots up. That’s right -- I’m going to the gym on a “chemo Wednesday.” Definitely not a common occurrence but, hey, basketball is calling my name. I’ll throw in some weights while I’m there, just to ensure that I am indeed getting tougher and stronger by the day. A cancer warrior is always looking for ways to get the upper hand on the disease.

There’s no doubt about it: Chemo Round 27 went extremely well. The sun is shining, I’m loving life, and cancer is going down.

The Power of Music

Yesterday, we lost a musical genius and a cancer warrior: Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys, better known by his fans as MCA. He was a great family man, an activist, and a hip hop icon. The waves of voices mourning his death and celebrating his life and his musical legacy, and describing the way his music shaped their lives and experiences, was another reminder to me about the power of music (and how much I loathe cancer).

A couple of weeks ago, as you know, I went to the Coachella music festival with my cousin. Looking back on it, I can honestly say it was one of the best weekends of my life, and the music had a lot to do with it. Listening to Mazzy Star's dreamy set, then running over to another stage to see Flying Lotus tear it up with his incredible electronic DJ skills, then laying down in the grass and gazing at the stars while listening to Bon Iver's gorgeous music...it was powerful and beautiful and almost too good to be true but it was true.

I know I was in the minority as a cancer warrior festival-goer, and I might have been even more in the minority as a person who didn't drink or do any drugs, but man, you don't need booze or drugs when you've got music. Music is soul-filling and spirit-lifting enough. And enjoying too much music doesn't give you a hangover.

I've only hinted at the brilliance of Radiohead's set at Coachella. The minute they took the stage, I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. The crowd went wild, and there they were: musical legends, right in front of me, about to play incredible music for two hours. While they played with otherworldly mastery, and while Thom Yorke sang as if directly communicating with my soul (yes, it was that deep), I said to myself and to my cousin: "It's moments like these that I'm so glad to be alive. It's moments like these that I'm so glad to be beating the sh*t out of this disease."

After the show, everyone was simply blown away -- huge smiles, big hugs, and cheers of joy erupted almost immediately. I overheard someone say to his friends, "We can now die peacefully. We have seen Radiohead live." That just about sums it up, actually. It was a once in a lifetime experience.

I didn't think anything could really top the excitement of the Radiohead show, but Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg came dangerously close. My cousin and I managed to snag a spot in the front row for their set, and it was a hip hop lover's dream. I rapped every word to every song, older than most of the kids in the front row so better educated on some of Dre and Snoop's older jams. They brought out some serious all-stars to join them onstage including Eminem, 50 Cent, and Warren G (and, of course, the Tupac hologram). I sang my heart out, danced my butt off, and lived out my hip hop dreams.

It's awesome how two very different types of music on two consecutive nights could fill me with so much joy. I won't lie and you won't be surprised -- I got tears in my eyes at both shows.

It is not lost on me how lucky I am to be alive. It is not lost on me what a fun and fulfilling life I live. And it is certainly not lost on me how music has played a major role in helping me survive and thrive.

RIP MCA.

The Truth

I talked with a friend today, not someone that I talk to all the time, or even regularly, and this person asked me how I was doing. I replied, as usual, with "Great!" This person responded in a way that no one has responded to me before (but Will insists that many have asked him a similar question): "Really, though. Actually great or are you just saying that?" 

I blew it off at the time, repeating that yes, I actually felt great and everything was going great, but that got me to thinking. Do people think that I'm sugarcoating my cancer experience? Do people think that somehow, some of the things I say on this blog and in real life are not the total and absolute truth?

Let me break it down for you.

Every word I've written on this blog is the truth. I have no desire to sugarcoat my cancer experience or make it palatable for a larger audience of people who haven't battled the disease. I have no desire to make myself seem superhuman or not affected by chemo or surgery in an attempt to pump myself up or fake myself out about the severity of what I am going through. This blog started out and has continued to be a place where I can speak directly from the heart. That's why these posts of mine, even the long ones, take me about 10 or 15 minutes to write. There isn't any editing or tweaking going on here, folks. This stuff comes directly from my brain/heart and goes directly to the blog.

The bottom line is what I write is true. What I say is true. And yes, I feel great. 

You know what, though? I'll get a little down and dirty, just for full disclosure purposes. The last round of chemo made me a little constipated. There you go. The ugly truth about my last round of chemo. I was undoubtedly dehydrated from Coachella and then chemo drugs finished the job of depriving my bowels of their requisite fluid. So for about a day (probably less than 24 hours but let's just round up for anti-sugarcoating purposes), pooping wasn't fun. But when I finally did poop, it was better than all the past 20 poops combined. It was a true joy. I literally did a little dance when I emerged from the bathroom.

Another truth? My CEA didn't go down this week. It actually went up .4, a figure that Dr. Lenz promises is utterly insignificant. Did I want my CEA to go from an 8.8 to a 6.8 or something sweet like that? Of course. Am I upset that it went to a 9.2? Not really. Slow and steady wins the race. I'll knock the CEA down some more with this next round of chemo. I've got no doubt about that.

So yes, everything is great. Actually great. Literally great. This week, I ate delicious, nutritious food. I went to the gym every day but today (a little break for Friday but back at it tomorrow) and I shredded my muscles and built them back up. I did the leg press at 215 pounds. I played pick-up basketball games all week and shot the lights out. I DJed O'Melveny's Cinco de Mayo party for 3 hours. I worked, I planned Foundation events, and I made progress on my t-shirt line. I slept like a baby. I sang in the shower and in the car. I laughed until I cried. I smiled at the sun and I lived each moment in utter gratitude.

Actually great. Literally great. 

Maybe it's the conception that chemo means sickness and frailty and cancer means the end of fun and death itself. Maybe it's that I seem too happy or strong or content to be a Stage IV colon cancer patient.

But it's all true. WunderGlo would never lie to you...or me.

A Quick Thought (Or Two)

If I had the power to erase my diagnosis and all the experiences and relationships that have come to be as a result of it, I wouldn't. I'd keep it. I'd cherish it. I'd be grateful for it.

I am grateful for it. I'm a better person, living a happier and richer life, and helping more people as a result of this diagnosis. I was always a brave person, but to live each day in a courageous way is an invigorating way to be. I was always a happy person, but to experience each moment with unadulterated gratitude for that moment is true joy. I always had a love for life, but now my zest for living -- and surviving -- is hard to even describe.

So no, I wouldn't wish cancer away. I'd embrace it and I do embrace it. Cancer -- and facing death -- taught me how to truly live.  I wouldn't wish my diagnosis on anyone, of course, but it was just what I needed to grow, learn, and live my life in a richer, more beautiful way. 

Now don't get me wrong: I am more devoted and focused than ever at extinguishing every last bit of cancer in these bowels of mine. But to be truly honest, I'm actually pretty happy that the disease found its way into my body.

Now if that doesn't terrify the hell out of cancer, I don't know what will. Ha!!