So Close I Can Taste It

One of the toughest things for me to deal with post-op is being barred from hitting the gym. Of course, this is the smart thing to do given the size of my incision and the massive amount of healing that my body has had to do over the last 7 weeks. But it's been a way of being that I've had to get used to. I've seen my muscular and substantial self turn into this practically skinny girl I've never seen in my adult life. I've felt my heart start pounding after a couple dozen stairs when it never would have dared to be taxed before. And my energy levels, while still higher than the average bear, can't compete with the athlete version of WunderGlo.

But my green light for all physical activities is just days away, it seems. My two remaining wounds along my incision line are almost closed, and that spells freedom.

In preparation, I've ramped up on my walking (which I still regard as the most boring exercise ever). Even though I was feeling a little chemo-gross a couple of days ago, I walked all around Santa Monica. The next day, I hit the Echo Park Lake. And yesterday, I took a stroll in my parents' neighborhood in Burbank.

When I'm officially allowed to do whatever I want with this body of mine, it's on. Weight lifting, swimming, basketball, spinning, yoga (don't laugh at me), and kickboxing. I plan to get into serious athlete shape, and maintain it for the rest of my life. Physical fitness is one of the keys to survival and showing "the cancer" that it has no place in my bag o' bones. So prepare yourself, dear readers. WunderGlo is going to transform her body -- and, along with it, her life -- very, very soon.

The Dog Days Are Over

It's time to add another song to my cancer-killing soundtrack, and this one is especially meaningful for me now that surgery is over, my scans are cleared, my body is healing, and I can see my new and improved normally-scheduled life at the end of the tunnel.

This Florence + the Machine song repeats the line "The dog days are over" throughout the song, and this joyful statement has become my post-surgery mantra. Yes, I still need to fully heal these incision wounds, work my way back up to physical fitness, and blast through five more rounds of chemo, but consider what I've got under my belt. A portacath placed in my chest. Eight rounds of chemotherapy. Endless bloodwork and CT scans. Lots of barium drinks. Two surgeries totaling 14 hours, resulting in a resected colon and small intestine, a complete hysterectomy, removal of my gall bladder and spleen and peritoneum and xyphoid process. And total annihilation of Stage IV colon cancer. 

I've learned all the lessons that this cancer had to teach me: about how to eat, exercise, meditate, de-stress, relax, and live healthily in super-HDTV. I've met incredible people along the way: Ramos, Lenz, Sugarbaker, Mary Ellen, Judy Worsley, Howard, and Coach K, to name a few. I've strengthened my relationships with family and friends and colleagues. 

And, incredibly...amazingly...I'm cancer-free. 

The dog days -- the days of physical struggle and medical uncertainty -- are over. And life couldn't feel more fresh and new, glittering with opportunity and shining with beauty. 

My Advice for the Recently Diagnosed

Every now and then, I get emails from newly-diagnosed cancer warriors or loved ones of the recently diagnosed. We discuss treatment options, diet and exercise, acupuncture, reiki -- the whole nine yards. But what I really want to say to all of those battling cancer is this:

Don't believe your doctors.

I'm not saying discount everything your doctors say or skip chemo or surgery in the hopes of expelling cancer through meditation. And I'm not saying your doctors aren't incredibly intelligent and caring people who only want you to be well. I love my doctors as much as my little WunderGlo heart can, as I've made clear on this blog.

What I mean is this: your doctors don't know everything. They don't know why you got cancer, why it spread, if chemo will kill it, and if it will ever come back. Despite theories and studies and hunches, doctors don't truly understand cancer. If they did, we'd all be cured.

These statements may be unsettling to you, but they shouldn't be. They should be empowering. Only you truly know your body, and only you can truly measure your will to live. Doctors can't quantify how a person's will to live affects their survival or death. Only you can.

So take charge of your disease. Be the leader. Let the doctors concoct the chemo and scalpel the cancer out of your body, but don't let their statistics or opinions win the day. You are in charge. You are the warrior. Your doctors are your brilliant and caring sidekicks, but only you can beat the hell out of cancer.

And you will.

So how did chemo go?

Amidst all the activity of the last couple of days, I realize that I haven't shared one shred of information about my eighth round of chemo. So here it goes:

I got up early on Thursday morning after too few hours of sleep, excited to get the show on the road. Got my blood drawn without too much trouble (although I do have a little bruise at the needle site now), and was soon hanging out with Dr. Lenz. We went over my scan results, discussed all the potential complications I wasn't experiencing (heart palpitations, blood in stool or urine, etc), and exchanged a big hug before I skipped off to the day hospital.

Chemo started off fine -- I was in great hands with my favorite nurse, Erlinda, and was soon enjoying a Benadryl-induced nap.

And then, I started to wake up. And my ears itched. And I started to feel really REALLY hot. I sat up and looked at my mom, and clearly I didn't look right. Erlinda stopped the chemo immediately and gave me another dose of Benadryl. I drowsily walked to the bathroom with my mom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Red, red, red. Cheeks, forehead, neck. Even my eyes were bloodshot. And my nose was congested. I was having a reaction to the oxaliplatin.

I remained calm because what else was I supposed to do, and soon, the redness went away and I was feeling fine. Benadryl, a soothing visit from Dr. Lenz (who said this was a pretty normal reaction), and a slower infusion rate was all I needed to get the drugs in my body without incident.

I got detached from my bag 'o chemo yesterday morning and I'm currently handling the chemo side effects without too much trouble. Yesterday, I was a little headachy and had absolutely no appetite. Today, I'm feeling much better and I'm eating a lot more. I feel almost completely normal, as if i hadn't had any chemo at all. One day of side effects, which don't include nausea or fatigue? I'll take it.

So Round 8 of chemo is in the books. One post-op treatment done. Five to go. I can see the finish line from here.

A Big Night

Last night, I joined the O'Melveny partners at the Ritz-Carlton in Half Moon Bay, and received one of the biggest honors of my life. Along with five of my colleagues, I received the Values Award. Each year, this award is given to six individuals -- two partners, two associates, and two staff members -- who demonstrate our firm's values: uncompromising excellence, distinctive leadership, and superior citizenship. We at OMM are serious about our values, and I truly believe that we are a better firm and a stronger family because of our guiding principles.

I have always viewed the Values Award with wonder, always hoping that I could make a big enough impact on the OMM community to be worthy of it. And last night, my dream became a reality.

My mentor, Carla Christofferson, wrote a moving tribute to me, mentioning my contributions to the firm, the greater Los Angeles community, and the even broader audience of the WunderGlo blog. When I was called up to receive my award, the partners gave me a standing ovation and I heard some of my favorites cheering especially loudly. To soak up all that support and respect from people that I deeply admire was a feeling unlike no other. I will cherish my experience last night and will always regard it as one of the most wonderful moments of my life.

And for the rest of my long and healthy life, I'll always be an OMM Values Award winner. Man, I love my firm.