'fam-uh-lee

When most people think of the definition of the word "family", they think of it in association with some degree of biological linkage.  Mr. Webster himself is of this notion with definitions such as "a group of people of common ancestry" and "a person's children".  But the one definition that Mr. Webster lists that I identify best with is "a group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation".  I like this one best because it does not define what that affiliation must be--there's no requirement for genetic linkage.  This is how I was raised.

I'm not one to readily "let people in" my life.  Some may say I'm even a bit standoff-ish at times.  I'm polite--that was beaten into me from a very early age (gently, of course)--and I'm pretty easy to hold a conversation with, but if I'm really going to let someone in and let all of my barriers down, that means something to me.  It means that you are becoming a part of my "family".  Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those crazy "security nuts"--I think passwords are a waste of my time...I don't care who sees my medical records (honestly, I think all the tree huggers need to be going after whomever came up with that HIPAA thing because they're wasting more paper than the rest of us that aren't recycling the inside of our toilet paper roll thingies)...and I'm pretty quick to voice my opinion (whether I think you want to hear it or not).  But a lot of what folks see on the outside is a (highly) sarcastic facade--I'm very apt to use humor and cynicism to avoid "facing the music" in most situations.  I don't think that people outside of my inner circle would readily describe me as "touchy-feely" or warm and fuzzy--although that may all change for those of you that are reading this blog now.

Sorry if I'm rambling, but I'm getting to a point, I promise...and that point is that I've quickly found my family growing.  We are united by a certain conviction and a common affiliation, and that is the belief that cancer sucks.  They also might care about me a little bit, but there's no doubt in my mind that every single one of them/you can agree that cancer really really sucks.  Almost everyone has, unfortunately, experienced cancer in some capacity--they have/had it or someone they know/knew had/has it.  And in every case there is an emotional connection of some degree.  When I'm faced with that kind of emotional connection, my barriers crumble.  We immediately become related--bonded by the wound that cancer has created on our hearts.  This stands true for my "blood" relatives, with whom I have shared in the loss and the defeat of this bastard.  It also stands true for my friends, near and far/old and new, that offer their prayers and support.  This includes you, if you're reading this--WELCOME TO THE FAMILY!!!

When you think of cancer, sunshine and rainbows aren't typically at the forefront of the thought process--you've gotta push through the thunderbolts and fire-breathing dragons, and then just after you travel through the lollipop forest, you get a glimpse of that sunshine.  That's what you have to look for in the midst of this.  And for me, family is the brightest sunshine and the biggest, boldest rainbow that's ever been in the sky.  One of the positive effects of having a disease like this one is that it really leads you to evaluate what is truly meaningful in life.  For me, that's all of you.  This weekend, as I mentioned in my last post, I had the opportunity to travel down to Florida to see my cousin marry his beautiful best friend.  Now, aside from my parents, I haven't gotten to see any of my relatives since I left Texas in June--and while you may think "four months, big whoop", please keep in mind that I was accustomed to seeing at least some of these folks every other week or so.  My heart was so full at just getting to visit with them during those few hours at the wedding that it was all but heart-breaking to tell them each goodbye.

To counter that crushing feeling, I look to the good things I have to come--I'm going to see them over the holidays after this first chemo battle with Eugene is over and done with, I got to come back to Athens--to continue to partake in the opportunity I've dreamed of for the last eight years, I get to work with some of the smartest and most caring men and women in my field on a daily basis (my sweet, sweet PDRC family <3), I'm attending an awesome conference with a whole group of people that share my passion for the poultry industry this weekend in Ocean City, Maryland and eating awesome seafood and seeing awesome scenery (a lot of awesomeness there), my beautiful little sister and niece are coming to visit me in less than two weeks, we're going to start BTHO Eugene one week from today, one of my best friends is coming to visit in November, I have a loving family and the greatest friends and support system a girl could ask for, and I have the most incredible man in the world to stand by my side or carry me through every single step of all of this.  So that's what I'm looking towards.  And I will continue to add things to that list--however small and seemingly insignificant they may become.  I refuse to become a slave to cancer.  It will not win. 

Thank you for being a part of my family, and for giving me something to be thankful for.  I'd like to ask a small favor--if you're praying (and that's entirely your choice, of course--but if you are) please add my friend Jennie's daddy (Dave Allen) to your prayer list.  He, too, is battling this beast and could use all the support that I know you guys are capable of giving.  Also, today starts Breast Cancer Awareness month, so "Save the Ta-Tas" and wear some pink in honor of the strong and brave women (and men) that have fought this SOB. 

WHY???

A question that everyone must ask themselves when found in less than ideal situations such as this.  Of course I wonder why.  And of course there are endless anecdotal responses—“God only gives us what he knows we can handle”, “Everything happens for a reason”, etc.—but I’ve never been one for anecdotes.  I’m very much a black and white, cause and effect, yes and no, every action has an equal and opposite reaction type of girl.  So when I was diagnosed, I immediately began wondering…WHY? 

I’ve always been a good kid—did my homework/got good grades, held open doors for old ladies, remembered people’s birthdays, did what my parents told me to (mostly), went to college and got a few degrees…hell, I’m a freaking doctor right?  I’ve never been one to indulge in anything much worse than a greasy cheeseburger or a nice calorie-laden dessert, so why me?  But then you start thinking about it from the other side of that spectrum—does not doing those things mean that someone else is more deserving of cancer?  Of course not.  Nobody deserves this—it’s a matter of biology—really, really sheisty biology.  I inherited a particular gene mutation that is responsible for regulating a certain kind of cellular growth, so my epithelial cells (those are the ones that line the inside of your GI tract, your uterus, your skin, etc.) don’t behave the way they’re supposed to.  It really comes down to just that.  Pretty simple when you think about it, right?...WRONG.  

Cancer is never simple—as we sciency, doctor-type people like to say, “cancer doesn’t follow the rules.”  In fact, it pretty much just makes up its own.  Cancer cells are the Bebe’s kids (that’s a movie reference for those of you that didn’t know--http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0103783/?ref_=nv_sr_2) of biological systems, looking their superiors in the face saying “whateva, I do what I want.”  So instead of sitting around and wondering why, the only option we have is to fight.  We cut it out and throw it away (even when I've asked the surgeon to save it for me to see because I’m a sucker for all the “yucky inside parts”), we blast it with nasty chemicals that make our hair fall out/skin peel/insides try to vomit themselves out—essentially poisoning our bodies in an effort to kill the bad cells before we kill (all of) the good ones, or we hit it with massive doses of concentrated radiation to try to give them a really bad sunburn.  And as many of you know (and if you don’t, just follow along with me over the next few months and you can learn), it takes a tremendous toll—emotionally and physically.  Sometimes we win, and sometimes that asshole cancer takes home the trophy. 

I’ve had both the honor and misfortune of watching people very dear to my heart fight this battle—and as such, I have beautiful angels above and amazing warriors still here on earth by my side that I rely on for inspiration, support, and encouragement daily.  As they fought (and continue to fight their battles--because the war with cancer is never truly "over"), I asked myself, "why these people--why do these people that I love with my whole heart have to go through this?"  The answer to that one has been made clear--they are the bravest men and women I've ever known.  Selfless individuals that have born the burden so that others would not, and have set examples for those of us in their wake.  I never imagined I would find myself to be a member of this (perhaps sadistically) elite group of people, but it gives me strength each day to have them by my side.  When cancer comes along, it doesn’t just affect the “sick” person—everyone that loves you becomes a warrior in the battle, and I have to say that I’ve gotta have one of the best damned armies that a person could ever dream of having. 

I’ve had people from coast to coast and everywhere in between reach out over the last couple of weeks to offer encouragement and support, and it’s difficult to put into words (surprising for me, I know—I obviously struggle with that) just how much that truly means.  You may think you’re “just sending a text message” or “just clicking “Like” on the ol’ Facebook”, but it’s SO much more than that.  That’s not to say that the reason I’m doing this or publicizing my journey is to seek emotional support.  I decided to do this after finding solace in reading about others’ journeys, and so I wanted to go on and pay it forward.  If reading this gives others an opportunity to smile or giggle or builds awareness/educates folks in some (likely minimal) capacity, then it’s worth it to me.  But there’s more to it as well—I’d like to use this as a platform to encourage people to listen to their bodies and take care of themselves.  If something doesn’t seem right to you, chances are that it isn’t—nobody knows your body better than you do. 

I was stubborn about biting the bullet and going to the doctor last year, and my symptoms progressed over a period of almost eight months before Chris finally had to, essentially, force me to go to the doctor.   Because who has time to go to the doctor?  Well I can tell you that a couple of check ups here and there are far less time consuming (and slightly less taxing, emotionally and physically) than what’s transpired over the past six months.  I’m 28 freaking years old—who’d have though colon cancer should’ve been on my radar?  But remember, cancer doesn’t follow rules…and you’re the only person that truly knows your body.  So get checked out.  There’s no shame—and if you don’t agree with your doctor when he/she tells you nothing is wrong then find a new one that legitimately listens to your concerns.  I wish I could say that all doctors are great, wonderful, and all-knowing people, but they’re flawed just as we all are.

I'm going to wrap this one up, because your buttcheeks are probably getting numb by now (if you actually read this whole thing), and we have to get on the road to see my cousin marry the woman of his dreams.  I'll for sure write more later this weekend in an effort to put off studying for my exam that's on Monday.  Until then #BTHOcancer #BTHOeugene #f*ckcancer and thanks for reading.

<3

Here we go again...

So, some of you know and most of you don't, but my old friend cancer has made a comeback.  You may or may not recall a celebratory "no more chemo" post on the ol' FB a while back.  Well, we did the customary follow-up CT scan and found a friend in a different place that merited some further investigation.  The PET scan was done, and that sucker lit up like a light bulb.  After the customary poking, prodding, and investigation by an array of "-ologists", I was destined for surgery number two to remove another hunk of colon (because who really needs one of those anyways) along with my newest friend.

Through all of this, I refused to believe it was the "c word", and latched onto the "inflammation" hypothesis the doctors were pitching wholeheartedly.  My attitude was, "get in, get it out, and let me get on with my chicken doctoring."  Well, it didn't quite go as planned--turns out I was being uncharacteristically optimistic, and some quick "real doctor" work revealed that it actually was cancer.  And not just your run-of-the-mill colon cancer...nope, this tumor was waaaaay down deep in my belly, and hugging some pretty important vessels.  That day's surgeon must've not been up to date on his malpractice insurance policy, as he opted to close things back up (quite nicely, I might add) and pass to the A-team.

Spent a few days in the hospital with some super-sweet nurses and a bunch of beeping things before they let me out so I could make the trip to Emory University (yeah, where the Ebola patients went) in Hot-lanta.  The surgical oncologist deemed my tumor--heretofore referred to as "Eugene"--inoperable because of his close proximity to my aorta (the huge artery that takes the blood straight from your heart to everything else) and another vessel called the superior mesenteric artery (SMA, for short) which basically supplies blood to all of your intestines (all of which are necessary for life, apparently).  So he referred me to a medical oncologist--those are the guys (and girls) that specialize in chemotherapy and all of its evil/life saving intricacies--the idea being that some specialized chemo could shrink Eugene down to a size that would render him operable.

The journey continued, and we met with the new doctor yesterday--he's kind of a smart guy from Lebanon originally with a lot of letters behind his name who's spent more time in school than I have (which, as most of you know, is really saying something).  He informed me that my "condition" is an exceedingly rare one--go figure--so we're going to take things one step at a time and see how things progress.

It's not my first chemo rodeo, but there are some new players drug-wise.  And with new drugs come new side effects.  Last time the main side effect that plagued me was constant nausea--so much so that I wouldn't eat for 24 to 36 hours at a time while I was receiving treatments.  Cold sensitivity was more annoying than painful--I mean, who enjoys drinking iced tea without ice or not being able to walk across the floor in their house without socks.  This time, they're predicting less nausea and more from the other end, if you get what I'm saying.  The other issue that's caused me far more distress than I ever would have thought is the prospect of losing my hair.  If you'd asked me a year ago if something like losing my hair for a potentially life-saving treatment would have been an issue, I'd have laughed.  But it's so much more than just hair.  However, just like everything else, we'll take it as it comes; and we're going to fight this thing with every tool we have available to us.

My family, friends, and colleagues have been absolutely irreplaceable through everything.  Going into the surgery, Chris and I were thinking everything was going to be just fine--then they found the mass where it was, and things became all too real all too fast.  His dad (the closest, geographically, of all of our relatives) headed south immediately from North Carolina to be here with us, and my parents came as soon as they could get things in order on the homefront.  I have, quite possibly, the most understanding and supportive colleagues I could have ever dreamed of.  My French chicken doctor brother has been holding things down in the office, visited me daily in the hospital (Yoda card and flowers in tow), and has served as an unwavering voice of encouragement and optimism through the whole process.  All of my clinicians and professors, along with the rest of my PDRC family have been the closest thing to a family that I could ask for in a new place far from home.  Each and every text message, phone call, and FB shoutout from friends and family near and far brightens gloomy days and helps turn frowns into smiles (yeah, I realize that's cheesy, but it's true).  There are a select few of you out there--you know who you are--that listen to my whining day in and day out, help me hold it together when it feels like everything is falling apart (like when it feels like there isn't enough oxygen in the room), and don't judge me when I say I want to do things like write a blog.

More updates and insight into my brain and Eugene's status shall come.  I'd like this to be a resource for whomever wants to stay up to date on what's going on--that's not to say that I'm under the impression that there's a mass of people out there hanging on my every word, but if you're sitting on the toilet and looking for something to read here and there perhaps this can be a resource.  Ask questions, leave comments.  I have no secrets, and if this can serve to help out someone in a similar position that would be even better.

Peace to all...except cancer...F*CK CANCER.