The Update Before The Update

Before I get to Chemo Round 25, I think it’s only right that I catch you up on my fun and jam-packed off-chemo week. What happens in a week in the life of WunderGlo? You could have probably guessed. A lot of stuff!! I'm not even going to mention work or my basketball game or the two Clippers games I went to (but all were fun).

So The WunderGlo Foundation screened Forks Over Knives last Wednesday to a packed house at Raleigh Studios in Hollywood. Executive Producer Brian Wendel was in the house, as was Dr. Matt Lederman (featured prominently in the film), as was two-time cancer survivor and author Meg Wolff. They graciously participated in a Q&A after the screening.

Most of the people who showed up were total strangers to The WunderGlo Foundation, which was awesome. We’re increasing our base in L.A.! And, of course, there were some familiar faces in the crowd, too – our Advisory Board and Board members, family and friends, and even my surgeon, Dr. Genyk. It was a great night and I was so honored to have brought that powerful film to so many people, and for free. If you haven’t seen Forks Over Knives, do yourself a favor and do it now. As in, now. Go ahead, I can wait. :) 

As if working full time and running the Foundation didn’t fill my week, Will and I packed up (most of) our things from our loft in Downtown L.A. and moved into our first home on Saturday.  The house is gorgeous, the neighbors are awesome, and the Hollywood Hills are treating us right. This is what you call “living the dream.” We are homeowners! Also, I love that people were asking me if moving was stressful. Honey, when you stare down Stage IV colon cancer, nothing is stressful. I had a ball. Maybe Will was a little stressed, but I had a ball.

Life is good, my dear readers. I’m happy, active, and feeling incredible. And I haven’t even gotten to telling you about Chemo Round 25 yet and my latest bloodwork results.

Chemo Round 24

I realize that it's been almost a week since I embarked on Chemo Round 24 and, for the delay in reporting back to you, I apologize. It was a heck of a week and a round of chemo to remember.

I was going to mess with you all and say it was the toughest round ever, etc., but since I was already remiss in updating the blog, I figured I wouldn't pull a trick like that.

Chemo Round 24 was the best round ever, actually. I know I said that last time, but Round 23 could never compare to Round 24. Get this -- I actually went out into the world on Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday. I was back to work with a full day in the office on Friday. I had a conference call on Thursday. I made flyers for The WunderGlo Foundation's upcoming event at Duke on Wednesday. I ate like a champion on all days. And that Monday night grossness I usually feel was completely, utterly gone.

What could account for my good fortune? For one, I told Dr. Lenz about the Monday night blues and he decided to double a couple of my premeds. That worked like a charm. Also, it's been a little over two months since my surgery and I'm getting stronger. Also, I've been cleared to work out and I've been working out, so I'm really getting stronger.

No matter how many more rounds of chemo I've got left to go, I'm feeling excellent about all of them. To be a fully functional human being during the entirety of a chemo week is a dream, and I lived the dream this week.

Speaking of dreams, I also achieved one of them this week. Will and I closed escrow and got the keys to our first house. It's not just a "first house" either: it literally fulfilled a goal of mine that I've had since childhood. Being a born and bred Angeleno, naturally I dreamed of having a fancy house in the Hollywood Hills. It would be a symbol of success but not just mine: my family's success.

You see, 99 years ago my great-grandmother walked into this country from Mexico with nothing but her brother's clothes on her back (this was during the Mexican Revolutionary War, and word on the street was that any woman not accompanied by a man would be picked off and raped by soldiers, so she tried her best to not look like a woman). She lived 90 years, had 14 children, outlived 3 husbands, and had a remarkable life marked by strength, love, and grit. My grandma was even tougher and grittier: raising three children, working her whole life, and enduring various surgeries that, like me, had her belly cut open (not as wide as mine was cut open) and her bowel resected and moved around.

My mom rounded out the trio as the strongest, tougest, most persistent and most admirable person I know. She dedicated and still dedicates her life to helping me achieve every goal I can dream of: from teaching me how to read when I was 3 years old, being hell-bent on making sure I went to the best high school and college despite the immense financial burden it put on her and my dad's shoulders, to instilling nothing but confidence and love in me that forms the bedrock of who I am and how I see the world and my place in it.

My Mexican-American family came from meager beginnings: a 13-year old girl dressed as a boy who started her new life in New Mexico. 99 years later, her great-granddaughter lives in a beautiful house in the Hollywood Hills...while stomping on cancer's neck. It's the American Dream with a WunderGlo twist. I'm well aware that I'm living it, and I'm incredibly grateful for it. 

Another thing I'm incredibly grateful for: CEA tumor markers falling and a solid CT scan that proves that my disease is a sitting duck, not moving a muscle or growing at all. "The cancer" is doing down, day by day. If it thinks I'm going to get soft with all this house and good fortune stuff, it's wrong. I'm still a stone cold killer, and that's not going ever to change.

Chemo Round 24 was sweet. And life is even sweeter.

On Duke's Loss In the NCAA Tournament

Since my diagnosis, Duke basketball means even more than it meant to me before.

It's having something to look forward to during chemo weeks, when usually all I want during those weeks is for time to pass as quickly as possible.

It's celebrating the athleticism and fitness of the Duke players when I'm laid up from surgery and medically forbidden from exercising.

It's my mom hearing the news that my cancer is inoperable and countering that with a question about when I can transfer out of the ICU so I can watch the game later that night.

It's getting a call from Coach K the day after my surgery, closing my eyes in my hospital bed and listening to him tell me that he loves me and that the team is behind me always.

It's flying to Maui on my off-chemo week to watch my Devils take the championship on heart-stopping 3 pointers by Tyler Thornton.

It's going back on chemo 3 weeks after surgery and feeling sick and lethargic to only have those feelings wiped clean by Austin Rivers hitting that buzzer beater over Carolina.

It's more than basketball. It's family. It's inspiration. It's magic.

I'm going to miss all of that now that the season is over. I'm going to miss it so much. But it'll be back in November. That, my friends, I can count on. GO DUKE.

Life: Full Steam Ahead

It's been two months since my surgery, a surgery that we hoped would rid me of all visible cancer in my body but didn't. A surgery that some would see as a disappointment. With findings that some would see as a death sentence.

But not me.

My surgery revealed some cancer lingering in the walls of my intestines -- disease that cannot be removed unless we want to put my life in serious danger. That makes my cancer inoperable. The good news is that this isn't new disease, but part of the boatload of cancer that was there in the first place (this makes a difference because a "recurrence" or "new" disease would be resistant to at least some chemo drugs). And although the specks of disease are widespread throughout my bowels (hundreds, maybe thousands of specks), they are also tiny. Tiny, pathetic, and dying as we speak.

Now, even before my docs concluded that this wasn't a "recurrence" in the sense that this disease would be ultra-strong and chemo resistant, I wasn't freaking out at all...because I already knew my plan. No matter what -- new cancer or not, lots of it or not -- I was going to continue living my life, full steam ahead. Because when you give up and let fear cripple you, you've lost. And when you think you're done, you're done. And I'm far from done.

Cancer has taken a few things away from me -- the most profound among them, my ability to bear children -- but it hasn't taken the most essential things from me. It hasn't taken away my ability to think -- to write this blog, to work in my trade as an attorney, to write my book, and to run my Foundation. It hasn't taken away my ability to travel, or play sports, or hone my DJ skills, or hang out with family and friends. It hasn't taken away my ability to laugh and love and sing at the top of my lungs and enjoy everything in life I want to enjoy. And it hasn't -- at all -- taken away or even weakened my will to live. I'm a survivor and in this for the long haul, but my life is so much fuller and richer than one characterized by simple survival. My life has a full head of steam, brimming with opportunities, and graced with wonderful relationships.

About a month ago, Will and I brought a new addition into our family when we got a puppy for my parents. Today, I played basketball for the first time since my surgery. Tomorrow, I go back to work at my beloved O'Melveny & Myers. In two weeks, Will and I close escrow on our first house (and what a house it is). And if Duke makes it to the Final Four, we'll be off to New Orleans at the end of the month.

No looking back, no fear, no anxiety, and no hesitation. Just a heart full of hope, a spirit ready and eager for everything that awaits, and a body that's built to last. Just life, full steam ahead.

Chemo Round 23

Simply put, this was the best round of chemo yet. It's hard to believe, but it's true. Under two months out of surgery, not yet medically cleared to exercise (although that's all going to change on Monday), and I get through this round better than pretty much any other round before. We even added Avastin to the mix this time around.

There were no gross feelings save for a semi-nauseous moment on Monday night, which I quickly counteracted with good smells like the grapefruit body lotion I bought from 10,000 Waves in Santa Fe. There were no belly aches since I popped Tums before I started experiencing that acidy gut feeling. And because I took it easy in bed -- alternating between eating, taking care of WunderGlo Foundation business, watching TV, and napping -- I managed to have a very easy Wednesday. 

I credit my ridiculously resilient body for this impressive showing, but I also did something differently this week. I drank a LOT of water. Now, usually, water is the last thing I want to see during a chemo week. For whatever reason, drinking a bunch of water is one of the most stomach-turning ideas when I'm infusing. I know it's good for me, but I usually can't bring myself to chug...or sip. But this time around, I knew I had to bring my A game because this time, I opted to stay at my loft instead of my parents' house, which meant two fewer nurses. I knew that I had to do all I that could to be as well as possible so I could make things easier on Will, and on me. So I spiked a big mug of water with a splash of pink lemonade and I chugged. The more I drank, the more I wanted to drink. And the more water I loaded into my body, the more manageable all the chemo side effects were. The cakey, medicinal feeling in my throat which usually creeps up on Wednesdays was gone. The mild but persistent headache was gone. Even the mild difficulty with BMs in the days following my Monday dose of pre-med Atropine (Atropine is supposed to counteract the diarrhea-inducing Irinotecan chemo drug, but usually does a little too much counteracting if you know what I mean) was gone. 

I ate, pooped, slept, and functioned almost as if I got half the drugs on Monday. That, my friends, is a win. A big win. 

And now, I'm off to the races. The chemo side effects have lifted entirely, I'm back to work at O'Melveny and at the gym on Monday, and there are nothing but wonderful times ahead. Before my diagnosis, I'd wake up and worry about all the things I needed to do in a given week or month. Don't get me wrong -- I looked forward to my work and life responsibilities, but I also perceived these things as if they were barriers to a peaceful existence (as in, "Once I do X, Y, and Z, I can relax"). These days, I have just as much do to -- probably more. But now, I wake up and smile, contemplating my days and weeks ahead. There is simply nothing to worry about -- there are only things to embrace and celebrate.

That's also a big win.