Living Strong

I've got a hunch about cancer. I think it's afraid of strength. The strength of chemotherapy, the strength of a scalpel, the strength of good old muscle and cardiovascular fitness, and the strength of a positive attitude. When you shake the thought from your mind that cancer is a deadly disease, and just focus on making yourself as strong as humanly possible, you've already dealt the disease a serious blow.

Throughout my battle, I never once gave credit to the cancer living in my body for being insidious and threatening. I never thought it was smart or powerful or capable of besting me. I didn't see a need to empower the disease by being afraid of it or doubting my chances at beating the crap out of it. This was a competition: me vs. cancer. And I wasn't going to waste one moment looking at wonderment at the foe I was about to fight. Cancer was a little punk that had only temporarily gotten the upper hand because it was racking up a bunch of points when I didn't even realize there was a game going on. No matter what, I was going to put it in its place.

My confident attitude, however, didn't lessen my desire to push my body and demand nothing but the best from it. Just because cancer was a little puke didn't mean that I wasn't going to prepare like crazy to fight it as aggressively as I could. Day in and day out, I hit the gym, working my heart and my muscles. I got my body into excellent shape precisely so that it could tolerate my treatments as well as it possibly could, and deliver a little message to "the cancer": you picked the wrong person to mess with, fool.

Today, I had a consult with one of my trainers, Wayne, at Educogym. It had been about two months since he'd taken my measurements, back when I was a little frail from surgery and not at all in shape, still benched by my doctors until my wounds healed up perfectly. Despite the fact that I'm beating cancer in a blowout at this point, my body still knows what time it is. I weigh 132 pounds, my waist is down to 30 inches, my body fat percentage is sitting pretty at 29%, and in the last two months I've managed to lose fat and gain muscle despite not working out at all during chemo weeks. I have managed to bounce back from a massive surgery stronger and fitter than ever, and I made those incredible strides WHILE undergoing six rounds of post-op chemotherapy. And without performance-enhancing drugs or even good old meat and dairy.

I'm on my way to truly living strong, and despite the great news today, now is not the time to sit back and eat a cupcake and lounge on my couch (though it is VERY comfy). It's time to ramp things up and work even harder. Because that's what a warrior does.

A Profound Chat...With The New York Times

Amidst all my rockin' and rollin' these days as a newly emancipated cancer warrior, an exciting thing happened. My friend Nancy Roach, the Chair of the Board of Directors at Fight Colorectal Cancer (one of the most awesome cancer advocacy organizations in the country), sent me an email. But it wasn't just to me -- a reporter from a little newspaper you might have heard of, the New York Times, was also cc'd. She provided the most gracious of e-introductions and explained that Andy the reporter was writing an article on cytoreductive surgery plus HIPEC -- you know, my "pick it out/pour it in" procedure -- and was interested in speaking with a patient who had laid it all on the line (or, more appropriately, the operating table) for Dr. Sugarbaker or Dr. Lowy or another HIPEC wizard. Luckily for your pal WunderGlo, she immediately thought of me.

Today, Andy and I spent nearly two hours chit chatting about my whole story: from bloated tummy to vomiting at Good Samaritan to my first surgery to chemo and "pick it out/pour it in" and back to chemo. He was an incredibly nice guy, and incredibly knowledgeable, too. It's super cool when a layman (as in, someone lacking a cancer diagnosis) can speak my language, and he did. At the end of our conversation, he told me that he had met a lot of cancer patients, but none like me. Aww, thanks, Andy!! I gave him a WunderGlo bracelet for that one.

There was something I told him that I want to share with you. It's something that I've never quite articulated -- not on the blog or in conversations, or even to myself. I told him that my battle with cancer has totally freed me. Instead of feeling limited or robbed by my diagnosis, every door has opened for me. I feel like I can do anything, and I want to do everything. Nothing scares me anymore, and nothing even upsets me. My cancer diagnosis, and the way I received and processed that diagnosis, did all of that for me.

You know how, when you first get a cell phone, it has that protective film over the screen? And when you peel it off, it reveals a perfect, shiny new screen? Some people try to keep that cover on for as long as possible, trying to preserve the screen but walking around with a cell phone with a silly plastic film on it.

Before my diagnosis, my life was great, but it had that protective cover on it. That sucker got peeled off the day I received my diagnosis, and I'm so glad that it did. I live my life with no fear, no doubt, and utter confidence that my every second of it is working out just as it should.

A Celebratory Drink

14 hours of surgery, 13 rounds of chemo, 10 months of nightly Lovenox shots (to continue for another three months, just to be safe).

I've never worked so hard for a glass of champagne.

It was delicious.

Finishing Strong

I'm a firm believer in finishing strong. In the pool, that means going all out on my last lap. In the gym, that means doing my last set of reps until my muscles are burning and screaming bloody murder. At work, that means finishing a brief at 3 in the morning with as much focus and effort as if it was 3 in the afternoon. In high school and college and law school, it meant getting some of my best grades during that last semester when almost everyone else had checked out.

On a chemo week, ending strong means having a full, action-packed day and showing cancer that it literally can't stop me from doing anything and everything I want to do.

On this beautiful Friday in Los Angeles, I spent several hours at OMM with Timmy and Sabrina and other favorites of mine, followed that with a super challenging legs workout at Educogym, followed that by going to a Sparks game (we won and looked amazing), and I'm now following that with some good times at a surprise birthday party in the Valley.

The fun will keep coming this weekend. Two brunches, a party, Gay Pride in West Hollywood (I always support my LGBT brothers and sisters, especially when a party is involved), and a huge dinner event at the L.A. library. On Monday, I've got another DJ lesson. On Tuesday, Timmy and I are going to the Dodger game. On Thursday, I leave for Hawaii.

Yup, life is pretty sweet for your girl, and I'm ending this last month of treatment strong. Every minute of our lives is an opportunity to enjoy the big and small things that make us happy, and I'm getting really good at celebrating all of them. I hope you are, too.

Fly

It's time to add yet another song to my cancer-killing soundtrack, and the hook on this one gets me a little misty. The chorus of female rapper Nicki Minaj's "Fly" comes pretty close to describing my attitude during this whole ten month ordeal and, as a result, is incredibly meaningful to me. Here are the lyrics:

I came to win, to fight, to conquer, to thrive 

I came to win, to survive, to prosper, to rise 

to fly 

to fly 

I never faltered in my goal of beating cancer and my attitude of "it can be done" -- not because I'm superhuman or tougher than everyone else. And not because I'm not aware of the statistics and the risks of various parts of my treatment plan. I maintained a fighting, eternally optimistic attitude while battling advanced stage cancer because it was the only way to survive. Giving up and allowing fear or doubt to creep in would have only empowered the disease. Believing in yourself and the fire you have within you to do anything, even the most improbable of things, empowers you over the disease.  

When I think back of the time immediately after my first surgery, when I was nursing my first surgery scar and a cancer-ridden body, I now realize that I had an unbelievable fight ahead of me with odds that weren't exactly stacked in my favor. I not only needed "the cancer" to stop growing...I needed my chemo to actively kill a serious amount of it. And then I needed a painstaking, radical surgery to remove every last bit of disease still living in my body. And then I needed to power through six more rounds of chemotherapy. These were all tall tasks, and failure at any point would have spelled serious trouble for me.

I truly believe that it was my attitude that helped carry me through all of it safely and soundly, into a reborn woman free of the cancer that threatened my life. Our will to live is a truly magnificent thing, a phenomenon that can't be measured in any clinical trials or documented in any medical journals. Our spirits -- our very souls -- help keep our bodies going even when things are looking bleak. I don't think there's anything more powerful that that...even cancer.

So for all my cancer warriors out there facing chemo or radiation or surgery, just remember: you came to win, to fight, to conquer, to thrive. You came to win, to survive, to prosper, to rise...to fly. 

And you will.