Chemo Round 21

Now that it's officially over (I consider the moment I feel normal, without a hint of chemo side effects, as the official conclusion to a round), it's time to catch you up on chemo round 21.

This was the soonest after surgery that I've ever received chemo -- just 3 and a half weeks after being sliced open from stern to stem. For the last 3 and a half weeks, I've been tending to my incision wound, walking around gingerly, and being at peace with the fact that I'm totally forbidden from hitting the gym. I've lost a little over 10 pounds since surgery, and I can tell that my muscles are not what they used to be. It's a simple fact that I'm not at my strongest at the moment, but there is no time to waste in my cancer-killing adventures. It was time for chemo whether my body liked it or not.

Turns out, my body was pretty ready for it.

My blood work was great (indicating good organ function everywhere), my CEA tumor marker had held firm at pre-surgery levels (quite a feat considering that I didn't have chemo for 6 weeks), and my PET/CT scan results were solid. After my usual pow-wow with Dr. Lenz, I was in my VIP bed in the day hospital chillin' out and killin' cancer. I was done with my IV, attached to my "bag o' chemo," and out of Norris by 1:30pm. 

I always get a little bit of steroids as a pre-med, and I felt it this time around. Definitely left Norris energized and humming, and well enough to grab lunch with my mom and Will in Silver Lake. I continued to feel good until around 10ish, when the "acid belly/gross headache" feeling settled in, as usual. It wasn't too bad this time and the feeling was gone by the morning. Tuesday, as all chemo Tuesdays, wasn't too tough either. My appetite was decent and I generally felt pretty well.

Wednesday morning was a little tougher, though.

Wednesday mornings are when I get detached from my "bag o' chemo" and I don't think I've really described the feeling when I'm first detached. I almost have a sixth sense as to when my pump of 5FU has run out -- I start tossing and turning in bed, my throat feels coated in a few layers of grossness, and I get pretty anxious about getting the needle out of my chest. The minute the needle is detached, I feel a mixture of relief and queasiness. Relief is easy enough to imagine, but allow me to explain the queasiness. It's as if I just fell face-first into a pile of dog poop. It's not the kind of queasiness that comes from a stomach ache or a headache. My body feels fine - no cramping, no twisting, no pain at all. It's just the thought of the "bag o' chemo" that makes me retch a little bit. Usually, I'm able to chug some water, picture a beautiful landscape, and get over that wave of grossness fairly quickly.

This time, I couldn't. It was 6am, and I couldn't stop myself from feeling utterly grossed out. I start to heave a little bit -- dry heaves, of course. After about 8 of them and not a drop of vomit, I knew that the moment had passed and that I was alright. And I was. I crashed into bed and slept like a baby.  

The rest of Wednesday was challenging, as Wednesdays always are. My head felt heavy and my energy levels weren't good. I chilled out in bed all day, only taking breaks to eat small bites of fruit and continue my impressive performances in the bathroom. Even amidst the chemo and the antibiotics I'm on (for the incision wound), meds that are both supposed to cause diarrhea, my GI system has held up like a rock star. Even when I'm feeling like poop, my poops are perfect. As the day progressed, I started to feel a little better, as if a fog was slowly lifting. Today, the fog is gone.

I had to battle this week, but I got through chemo when I was at my weakest, which is a huge moral victory. Chemo is never going to be harder than this round and, when you consider what others have to go through with their own treatments, it wasn't actually that hard. 

So what helped me finally shake those chemo side effects for good?  

Well, at 6pm last night, my beloved Duke basketball team played our arch-rivals, UNC. We were coming off a heartbreaking loss against Miami and were facing a very talented Carolina team (as much as it pains me to admit). According to all the experts, we weren't supposed to win the game, but I believed in our guys.  Whether I'd watch the game wasn't really a question despite the fact that getting worked up over a loss could have made me feel worse. I wouldn't have missed that game, win or lose, for the world. So there I was, in the robe I wore all day and looking unimpressivly limp, reclined in my parents' back room and ready to watch my Blue Devils fight...just like me. 

There were highs and lows during the game, and times where I wanted to just shut my eyes and concede defeat. UNC had us on the ropes with a 10 point lead for most of the second half. But, of course, I didn't shut my eyes or concede defeat. I stuck with the team and kept on believing that we could emerge victorious.  And we did. At the buzzer. A come from behind victory of epic proportions. Our freshman phenom, Austin Rivers, scored 29 points including the game winning 3-pointer that sealed the deal and had me screaming, jumping, and crying tears of joy. 

In sports and in life -- and especially when you're fighting cancer -- you simply can't give up on yourself and the people that you trust and love. You always believe in your doctors, your support system, and yourself. No matter how long the odds look, you've got to stick around, show up, and keep fighting. My Blue Devils could have given up last night, but they never did. Because of that, their victory was all the more glorious and especially inspiring to me.

When interviewed after the game, Austin said something that doesn't just apply to the team's big win, but to my first foray back into chemo for this 21st round: 

"It's amazing what can happen when you have courage."

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I will go back to Norris. I will see Dr. Lenz, get my port accessed, and receive chemo drugs for several hours. Three and a half weeks out of surgery, I will be back to actively killing cancer.

I can't wait.

Next?

Part of my cancer-killing philosophy is -- calmly and coolly -- taking it one step at a time. 

I remember that back in my early days of dealing with my diagnosis, staying true to that statement wasn't so easy. I'd love getting through each round of chemo and count down the days until I could be finished with treatment completely. That mentality made the time after the Sugarbaker surgery and before I got back on FOLFOX -- around March of last year -- one of the more frustrating times in my cancer-killing adventures. Back in the younger years of WunderGlo, I was all about barreling forward, knocking down each challenge, and getting to the finish line.

But these days, the finish line is not so clear. It may not even exist.

Because my most recent surgery didn't result in every speck of cancer being removed from my body, I have a longer road ahead of me. The dream of being totally cured and cancer-free is just not in the cards for me -- not in the immediate future, at least. 

But you know what?

So what?!

Has cancer stopped me from enjoying my life? Has it kept me from working out or practicing law or launching The WunderGlo Foundation? Has it stopped me from DJing or writing my book? Has it stopped me from traveling to Hawaii or Durham or Santa Fe or Vegas or London (or Paris)? Has it stopped me from enjoying my wonderful family and friends? Has it stopped me from taking in -- each and every day -- the immense beauty of this world?

Nope. It hasn't done any of that.

So my attitude in this cancer-killing adventure of mine, no matter how long or arduous it might be, is simple. After I conquer each challenge ahead of me, be it a surgery or a round of chemo, my immediate question is: next? Because I'm ready for more. More fighting, more learning, more leading by example, and most importantly, more LIVING.

So what is next for me? Chemo -- of the FOLFIRI plus Avastin variety. The same chemo that got my CEA tumor marker from the high 30s to 5 points away from normal. Yup, that good stuff. I start on Monday with Round 21, and I'm more than ready to collaborate with chemo in some serious cancer-killing. And I'll continue on with it until I'm in remission. We don't know when that will be, or how much chemo it will take to get there, but be assured that I'll get there. I have no doubt that I'll get there.

From an emotional and mental standpoint, this disease can break you down...or it can build you up. It can strip you down to nothing or it can be a launching pad for enlightenment and growth. Staring death in the face could frighten a person, or it could make that person fearless. You all know which path I've chosen. I've never let cancer get the better of me. Instead, I've allowed it to better me. And for that, I can't be anything but grateful for my diagnosis. Seriously.

So in this cancer-killing adventure of mine, just know that no matter how long it takes to officially beat this disease -- regardless of the pain or frustration or duration -- your pal WunderGlo will have just one thing in mind after enduring challenge after challenge. One audacious sentiment. One simple question.

Next?

Because I'm not giving up. Not ever.

Healing, Recovering, Recouping

It’s been several days since I’ve been released from the hospital, and I can honestly say that I’ve never felt better after a surgery. It sort of makes sense, right? After my first surgery with Dr. Ramos, I still had heaps and heaps of cancer in my belly, so that probably slowed me down a bit. And after “pick it out/pour it in” with Sugarbaker, I was reeling from an 11 hour, 17 procedure surgery that included a healthy dose of heated chemo during surgery followed by four days of intraperitoneal chemo (ah, memories).

But now, after my recent surgery with Dr. Genyk, I can say without hesitation that I feel fantastic. My incision wound is healing nicely, everything in the poop department is better than good, and I’m full of energy, as usual. Part of this great result is preparation. I came into this surgery bigger, stronger, and more focused than ever before. I spent hours in the gym, meditating, and drinking green juice, all in hopes of making my body as resilient and healthy as possible as it went into battle. If the speed and ease of my recovery are any indication, I must have prepared quite well. Not bad considering how busy I was up until the day before my surgery (guess who learned how to multitask, take care of business, AND take care of herself at the same time?!). 

These days, I’m taking it easy (easy for me, at least). Working on Foundation stuff, my new t-shirt line for cancer warriors and their supporters, and my book. Getting enough sleep, food, and rest. Infusing my days with laughter, love, and gratitude. And not thinking about pushing myself at the gym one second before my body is ready (but looking forward to that second when my body is ready).

Recovery is smooth and steady, and coming quite easily. I guess you could say that being a cancer warrior has become second nature to me. It’s not a bad problem to have. 

Out of the Hospital!!

After a little over a week, I finally made my way out of Keck Medical Center at USC. I'd felt ready to go for at least 36 hours, but one last pesky JP drain along with another surgery that kept Dr. Genyk busy until 11:30pm on Thursday night conspired to keep me cooped until Friday. My mom and I definitely started getting a little stir-crazy, frequently asking my nurses to disconnect me from my IV so we could go on "adventures" throughout the hospital in my wheelchair. On one of these trips around the Medical Center, we decided to venture outside, and there, we saw Dr. Genyk walking from the parking lot to his office. This was yesterday, Friday, at about 4pm. He had promised to be by "by the afternoon," so by 4pm, that promise was starting to head south. But there he was! My doctor, walking quickly and immediately spotting me in a speeding wheelchair, cloaked in a Duke blanket. 

"Heeey!!" I exclaimed as I threw up my hands. Moments later, Dr. Genyk scooped me up in a hug, apologized for not coming by the night before, and again promising to be by my hospital room in 30 minutes. I told him that I was leaving the hospital with the JP drain intact if I didn't see him by then. 

About 20 minutes later, he was in my room, checking out my incision wound one last time, authorizing his residents to remove my JP drain (a painless experience given the location and type of drain), and officially giving word that I was ready to be let loose on the world. He gave me a hug and a kiss and told me to be good. I told him that I would.

And about an hour later, I was free. It's such a surreal feeling: being out in the world, among the flocks of people who didn't just spend their last week in a hospital, battling cancer and recovering from a major surgery. I sat at the Veggie Grill with my parents, Sabrina, and Rhett, looking around with amazement at these people. What different lives we lead, especially when it comes to health. Some could go their whole lives without a trip to the hospital. At the age of 30, I've become an expert at hospitals and surgeries. Different strokes for different folks, I guess! After dinner, we headed to the movie theater to see that exorcism movie, The Devil Inside. It's my "thing" to go see a super freaky movie hours after being released from the hospital. After my Sugarbaker surgery, it was The Rite. Don't judge me for my love of horror movies. :) 

All in all, the last week has been a great one. Surgery wasn't exactly what we had expected it would be (more on that later), but as Dr. Lenz says, everything we have done and have learned at this point is "all positive." We have gotten a handle on my disease and where tiny specks of it still lurk, and we have a plan to get me into remission. And I have an even better incision scar. I'll show it to you soon!!