Rest in Peace, Steve Jobs

When a fellow cancer warrior dies, it's hard not to take it personally. Today, we lost Steve Jobs to pancreatic cancer. And while I'm still processing the news that this true genius has passed away, I can't shake my feelings of sadness and anger. Sadness that such an incredible person has died when he clearly had so much more to contribute to the lives of his loved ones and to the world, and so much more to enjoy. Anger because cancer deprived him of the opportunity to do these things.

I'm also feeling pride, though. Proud that Steve Jobs fought cancer with everything he had and beat the odds several times over. Pancreatic cancer is incredibly aggressive and, in Steve's case, he certainly wasn't projected to live seven years after his diagnosis. But he did live, and how. We should all be so fortunate as to make such an incredible impact on the world. I am deeply grateful for his contributions not only as an innovator, but as a cancer warrior. He showed others how to fight the disease and live much, much longer than any doctor would have expected -- and how to do it with grace, brilliance, and passion.

I stumbled upon a quote earlier today that rings so true to me. It describes precisely how I've lived my life since my diagnosis on September 19, 2010. The quote is from Steve Jobs' Commencement Address at Stanford University several years ago, and truly captures the liberating aspect of a cancer diagnosis. 

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

 Rest in Peace, Steve Jobs. And thank you for reminding all of us to follow our hearts.

50/50

On Sunday, I headed to the theaters and watched 50/50, the new movie about a young guy who is diagnosed with cancer. His chances of survival according to the statistics are -- you guessed it -- 50/50. Naturally, I had been eagerly anticipating this movie since the first time I watched its trailer a month or so ago. I consider myself a cancer connoisseur these days: launching my cancer-related non-profit, sharing war stories with other warriors, and nodding knowingly when a TV show or movie references the disease. For better or worse (I'd like to think "better"), cancer is a part of my life and will always be. So, yes, I was pumped to see this movie.

What made my movie watching experience truly moving wasn't so much about the film -- which I absolutely loved, by the way -- but the people with whom I watched the movie. My parents and Will came, of course. And so did Timmy. And Morgan.  And Michelle. They all came not just to watch the movie, but to watch it with me. Just the fact that they were there with me, watching the movie, filled my heart with joy.

I am blessed with a devoted, saintly group of people who love and support me every day and in every possible way. Sitting beside some of them while watching this film, and knowing that we were all tearfully (pretty sure we all cried) reflecting on this last year and my personal battle with cancer made the experience incredibly powerful. And incredibly empowering. My resolve to beat the living crap out of cancer was redoubled, which doesn't even seem possible. I would never, ever let this disease take me away from the people I love so much. 

Cancer is at its weakest when the cancer warrior is filled with love for life and the people in it. This means that the cancer in my body, dear readers, is pretty much toast.

The WunderGlo Foundation's 3-on-3 Basketball Tournament

A week ago today, I got up early, loaded up the car, and headed to USC's Lyon Center for the culmination of a dream that started several months earlier. This would be the day of my Foundation's first event -- a 3-on-3 basketball tournament and silent auction -- and I was beyond excited. 

Now, after reflecting on it for a week, I can honestly say that the event exceeded my expectations, which were -- as all my expectations are -- pretty darn high. 

It was frantic at first, setting up the silent auction and getting the registration table together and delegating work to the dozens of wonderful friends and family who were there to help me. Almost in an instant, teams started pouring in: athlete after athlete, some wearing jerseys and some wearing matching t-shirts, all there to compete and to support The WunderGlo Foundation. In the rush of getting the tournament off the ground, I took a moment and scanned the gym. 

Players were shooting around, spectators were chatting, and people were checking out the silent auction items. My friends and family were there, enthusiastic and ready to tend to their various tasks (big shout-outs to my referees and scorekeepers, who worked the tournament all day long). My oncologist, Dr. Lenz, was there, smiling and taking in the action. My colleagues were there, on teams and as volunteers, doing their part to make sure my event was a huge success. My husband was there with his team and his camera, devoted to playing hard and taking great pictures throughout the day. My parents were there with whistles in hand, ready to ref their butts off. And Tim and Aymee were there, in their official capacity as officers of The Foundation and in their unofficial capacity as two of my best friends. My heart was full and my body felt great, not deterred by my last round of chemo but energized and ready to run the tournament and play some basketball.

It was a dream come true, and the first game hadn't even started.

After I gave a brief speech to the crowd (I was followed by Dr. Lenz, who gave a funny and inspiring talk (of course)), we were off to the races. Three full courts of basketball, 5 games going on at the same time (we played half court games), and the street team at DJ Scratch Academy (that's where I take my DJ lessons) on the ones and twos, providing the soundtrack to the event that kept everyone's energy up. A couple of hours later, we all chowed down on a delicious vegan lunch from Sage Vegan Bistro. And by 5:30pm, our men's championship game was underway, wowing everyone who watched the incredible competitors go toe to toe.

At the end of the day, we raised over $11,000 for the beneficiaries of the tournament: Fight Colorectal Cancer and the USC Norris GI Oncology Program. We had hundreds of people come out to the event and everyone seemed like they had a great time. I've already heard many people ask when the next tournament would be (answer: next year, around the same time). 

I couldn't have asked for a more incredible, satisfying experience. The WunderGlo Foundation is off to a fantastic start. 

Oh, and what team won the women's championship? I'll give you one guess.

Chemo Round 15

Yesterday was my second round of FOLFIRI -- my 15th round of chemo total -- and it went off without a hitch. I got to Norris a little late and was still a little sleepy from my huge weekend (a post about my Foundation's basketball tournament coming soon, I promise!), but blazed through my blood draw and was hanging out with my nurse practitioner, Taline, moments later. We discussed my side effects from last round's chemo (which were really minor: a bit of constipation at first (probably caused by my pre-med drug, a belly ache on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, and some loose stool persisting into last week) and decided to cut my pre-med drug that probably caused the constipation in half. My blood pressure and temperature were perfect, as usual, and I'd be getting news on my CEA tumor marker by tomorrow (yup, that's right, today -- hold your horses, I'm about to tell you about it).

This new FOLFIRI cocktail is agreeing with me. Treatments only last a few hours (as opposed to the almost endless sessions of FOLFOX after my surgery when I developed some issues with oxaliplatin, which led to super long infusion times and double the Benadryl). Side effects are totally manageable, although I make sure I really, really take care of myself and chill. My appetite has remained normal, and this time around, my bowel movements have been absolutely lovely (no constipation and no stomach aches yet). And, best of all...(cue the drum roll)....

My CEA is dropping!!

Actually, it's falling like a rock. When I got back from my post-treatment trip to Europe, my CEA was at a 23, which is elevated (anything over a 10 is a pretty good indication that something not great is going on, anything under a 3 means you're as normal as they come). That's when we noted my pleural effusion and got it drained (and that's when we found out that the fluid was clean and I did NOT have cancer in my pleural fluid as the foolish, foolish radiologist had practically guaranteed in my scan report). However, the following week, the CEA didn't drop but continued to climb...to 37. And that's when we knew that more chemo in addition to another stint with Sugarbaker was pretty much a lock. Before I even started chemo, though, my CEA dropped to 29, and then to 22 (evidently, my just thinking about killing cancer is enough to do the trick).

And now, after a single round of FOLFIRI, I'm down to a 16.

This is awesome, awesome news. These straggler cancer cells are dropping like flies, and I'm loving it. I love fighting cancer, and -- you're not going to believe it -- but I love chemo. I love that it helps me kill cancer. I love that it doesn't take too great of a toll on my body. I love that it does exactly what I want it to do. 

Those poor, half-dead and dying cancer cells don't stand a chance, and I'm feeling stronger than ever.

A Whirlwind of a Week

How much excitement, new experiences, and great times can you pack into one week?

When it comes to my life, apparently the sky's the limit.

The last 7 days have been some of the most exciting, inspiring, and action-packed I've ever enjoyed. How to begin? I guess I'll start in New York City.

On Sunday morning, I headed to Cornell Medical School for a meeting with some young professionals, doctors, and leaders of various non-profit organizations relating to worldwide access to treatments for non-communicable diseases (the "big four" of these are heart disease, lung disease, diabetes, and -- my personal favorite -- cancer). We talked about the current disparities in access to life-saving treatments and medicines for these non-communicable diseases, and how each organization at the conference can unite to strengthen our movement for equal access to treatment. It's insanely unfair that people battling diabetes in many countries -- a disease that can be controlled, in many instances, with insulin -- simply can't get access to this life-saving drug and die as a result of it. And forget it if you live in one of those countries and you get my diagnosis. There's no Dr. Sugarbaker in developing countries.

I'd been invited to this meeting by my friend, Sunny, who organized the gathering and is one of the leaders of the NCD Action Network. Sunny is an awesome and brilliant guy -- a fellow Blue Devil and a Rhodes Scholar to boot -- and wanted me to share my story with the group. So I did. I told these passionate young people about my diagnosis, my battle with "the cancer," my blog, and The WunderGlo Foundation. I found an immediate new community of supporters and activists, and, after leaving our meeting, felt even more energized than usual. Nothing gets my blood pumping like helping others and growing The WunderGlo Foundation into an organization that truly changes the face of cancer. Linking up with the young studs of the NCD world brought me closer to that goal.

After grabbing a delicious vegan lunch (green juice, grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup, and bites of Will's blueberry pancakes), I decided to be good to my body and rest up at the hotel. So far, I've found that the side effects from this first round of FOLFIRI were better than FOLFOX (I'd pick some loose stool over a gross headache any day) but lasted longer. I knew that I was moving quickly in NYC and that my bowels were moving quickly, too, so I decided to curl up in my hotel bed for a bit, drink some water, and rest. 

After all, I had a big night ahead.

By 5:30pm, I was at NikeTown in NYC, among dozens and dozens of runners, and proudly wearing my new LIVESTRONG "Fight Like Hell" shirt. I was there for a run through New York City with LIVESTRONG and Lance Armstrong. Lance was a little delayed -- ok, a lot delayed -- but it was well worth it. I couldn't help but feel a little misty when I first saw him. Lance was the first person I thought about when I received my diagnosis, and his story of beating the crap out of Stage IV testicular cancer that had spread to his lungs and brain has always served as a major source of inspiration for me. He gives so many cancer warriors so much hope, and it felt like a milestone of sorts to be face to face with him as he addressed the crowd (I was in the front row, naturally). This was Lance -- a person who helped fuel my defiant, confident battle against a deadly opponent -- and it felt incredible to be alive and well, strong and vibrant, and shoulder to shoulder with athletes and activists in New York City. 

In the days leading up to my trip, I'd been emailing with Doug Ulman, the CEO of LIVESTRONG (we have an awesome mutual friend, Kumi, who made the connection). Doug and I planned to meet up at the run or at the post-run after party, and I had a sneaking suspicion that I'd be meeting Lance, too. But first, we ran.

Running with a huge pack of seasoned runners through Central Park, with Lance Armstrong leading the way, was surreal and exhilarating. And although it didn't last long -- like I could keep up with their ridiculous pace -- it was fabulous. Will and I decided to take a "chemo shortcut" (as if chemo is the reason why I'm not a good runner) and knocked a couple of miles off the 5-mile run by cutting down Broadway to the after party location. I've never jogged through the heart of Manhattan for the fun of it, but it rocked. We jogged past The Late Show with David Letterman (one of my favorite guys ever) and Times Square, letting the dazzling lights of the city guide our way through the streets and trying not to bump into the crowds. Finally, we were at our location (the runners had beaten us there, naturally), and we entered the rooftop bar area where Lance and Doug were doing a Q&A session with a dude from Nike. The place was teeming with people, all angling to get an autograph or have their picture taken with Lance. 

But I was there for business.

I wanted to meet Doug, slip him my new WunderGlo Foundation business card, chat about the event and talk about future collaborations. I slyly made my way to the front of the crowd and to the side area which was clearly the place Doug and Lance would be passing by before being whisked away into some uber-VIP area. I waited, and when the Q&A ended, I pounced. Doug passed me and I called out his name and introduced myself. He immediately gave me a hug and said how great it was to finally meet me, and he told me to follow him. Yup. I was on my way to the uber-VIP area!

Doug and I had a great talk and, of course, I slipped him my card. He loved the back of my card, which says, "How Dare Cancer Pick A Fight With Me?!" and immediately looked for Lance, who was just a few feet away. He called him over, showed him my card (Lance liked it too), introduced me, and seconds later, I was shaking hands with Lance Armstrong. Then Doug and I took a picture together. Then Lance and I took a picture together.

Forget the Tour de France. I met one of the baddest cancer warriors out there along with the guy who runs LIVESTRONG (also a cancer warrior), and it was a true honor.  

How do you top that? In my world, you just keep moving forward. The next morning, I joined Sunny again, at a Youth Rally right in front of the UN building. We chanted, sang, danced, and riled up the crowd with speeches. I addressed the crowd, telling my story again and noting how important it is that the UN truly invest in helping people all over the world fight, control, and beat the diseases they face every day. In the evening, I attended an American Cancer Society-sponsored event at the St. Regis, where I finally got to meet my new friend (introduced to me by Sunny) and American Cancer Society stud, Kiti. She introduced me to various big shots, and I left the hotel with several new contacts and tons of new ideas about where to take The WunderGlo Foundation.

Before I headed home on Tuesday afternoon, I met up with the two awesome founders of The Levo League, Caroline and Amanda. Our mutual friend, Kelly, made the connection (seriously, how awesome are my friends making all of these sweet connections, right?) and these cool chicks wanted to grab lunch and interview me for an upcoming article about yours truly. We talked about sharks (of course), my diagnosis, The WunderGlo Foundation, and basketball, and I left my lunch with them happily full and totally jazzed about making two new friends.

I'm an L.A. girl, through and through, but there's something magical about New York City. And this trip -- filled with incredible people, energy, and exciting activity -- was one of the best yet.

And then I got home, took a deep breath, and plowed through all the planning and plotting that led to The WunderGlo Foundation's first ever event, which was a serious success. Hundreds of spectators, thousands of dollars raised, and a championship trophy for my team, The Warriors.

But let's all take a little breather before I tell those stories. With a schedule like mine, rest is essential.