Chemo Round 28

Chemo is even more fun when it’s preceded by good scan results, and that’s just what I got on Monday. Instead of beating around the bush, Dr. Lenz always just comes right out with the results, and Monday was no different. Right after giving me a big hug, he said, “Scan results are good” as he passed a copy of the report to my mom. We already sort of knew that they’d be good given my CEA number, which is still dropping – this time, from a 9.2 to an 8.4. But it’s always nice to have some reinforcement from the radiologist’s report.

We also discussed a small blood clot that I have in my jugular vein -- a likely result of having this port in my chest since October of 2010. Not a big deal re: the clot -- it's not in an especially dangerous place, it's small, I'm staying on Lovenox (of course) and Dr. Lenz isn't really concerned about it. I bet it's already resolved itself by now, but if it hasn't, it will soon. Bottom line is I get to work out just as I always have, so I'm a happy camper. 

Ok, back to the scan results.

Essentially, the tiny bits of disease in my intestines are still way too small for the CT scan to pick up – no shock there. The only suspicious stuff on my scan are some slightly enlarged lymph nodes, which are shrinking. So basically, there’s a little bit of disease just chillin’ in my belly, preparing for its eventual demise. A few punks who didn't get the memo last February. A few foolish cells that think they can outlast me. Not so, foolish cells. I'm coming for you, every second of every day. And I'm in no hurry. I'm stalking this disease like Michael Myers in a Halloween movie -- moving confidently and slowly, knowing that I'm going to make a killing in due time (yes, I just compared myself to Michael Myers). 

This round went smoothly, though I did sneak in a nap or two later in the week, probably because I was pretty active early in the week. On Monday night, I went to a movie (Cabin in the Woods – a scary movie, of course!) with my high school buddy Meghan, and on Tuesday, I went to the L.A. Sparks home opener with Will and Tim. I tried to keep yesterday and today especially low-key since I’ve got an early morning Foundation meeting at Norris/Keck tomorrow morning and I’ve gotta be 100% for that (I’m planning big things over here, if you hadn't guessed).

It’s hard to believe that I’ve been in treatment for over a year and a half, but as each day passes, I not only feel more grateful for the life I’ve been given, but more patient in my approach to beating this disease. In many ways, living the full, healthy, happy life that I’m living is beating the disease. Cancer hasn’t slowed me down and isn’t limiting the things I’m doing in my life. In fact, it has helped me broaden my horizons what with the Foundation, my cancer warrior t-shirt line, and my book.  Beating cancer isn't all about remission or a cure -- it's about not letting the disease get you down, stop you from enjoying your life, or crushing your spirit. Obviously, I want to “beat” it in the literal sense of going into long-term remission (as in, life-long remission), but I’m calm and collected about reaching that goal. No matter how long it takes, I’m enjoying the journey, and that’s the true victory.

I Believe

It's been a loooong time since I've added a song to my cancer-killing playlist, and this one is an old favorite of mine. Back in the day when I used to watch American Idol, I particularly liked Fantasia Barrino and her song "I Believe." She sang the hell out of the song and I always found the lyrics to be so inspiring and powerful. Back when I was studying for the bar exam, I'd take daily breaks at the gym and I'd blast this song while I was plugging away on the elliptical machine or pumping iron.

These days, "I Believe" means even more to me. When I reflect on it, everything I've achieved in my life has been driven by one thing in particular: the fact that I've always believed in myself. 

This unwavering belief in myself has meant everything in my smackdown of cancer. I don't question my body's ability to respond to treatment. I don't question my ability to learn what things I need to do to keep myself as strong and healthy as possible. And I don't ever question my will to live, survive, and thrive. That's why this diagnosis never freaked me out...not even for a second (seriously, you can ask my doctors, family, or friends...I've been as cool as a cucumber since Day One). Because when you believe in yourself and your ability to do whatever it is you set your mind to, you're already halfway there.

Without believing in myself, I don't fulfill my childhood dream of going to Duke. I don't get into all 10 of the 10 law schools I applied to. I don't get my job at O'Melveny and have the incredible career I've had thus far. I don't take a Stage IV colon cancer diagnosis in stride, fighting the disease like an beast and helping others in the process. And last night, I don't play 5-on-5 full court pick-up basketball (after a full weight training workout, as the only girl, and only cancer warrior) and light it up from 3 point land. I don't do any of those things without believing in myself. But I did them all because I do.

These particular lyrics of the song never fail to bring tears to my eyes. They are the truth. They are my truth.

I believe in the impossible

If I reach deep within my heart

Overcome any obstacle

Won't let this dream just fall apart

You see, I strive to be the very best

Shine my light for all to see

'Cause anything is possible

When you believe

So no matter your struggle -- whether you're a fellow cancer warrior or dealing with a different medical issue or not -- dig deep, find your strength, and never let it go. And believe.

Happy Mother's Day

When my first surgeon, Dr. Ramos, emerged from the operating room on September 19, 2010, he had tears in his eyes. He delivered the news about my diagnosis and prognosis that no loved one wants to hear. Like normal people, my family was devastated. There were tears. There was sadness. There was fear. Everyone felt like they had lost already.

Everyone except one person, that is. My mom.

My mom believed in me even when the chips were down – way down – and when there really wasn't a solid reason to think positively. My mom didn’t cry when she heard that news, that her only child was going to wither away and die within a year or two. She remembered our conversation from the night before, when she asked what I'd do if my disease was Stage IV and that I said that I'd beat it. She wrote down everything Dr. Ramos said, already thinking of who to call and how to get to the best plan of action in place. She delivered the news to my family and told them that if they wanted to cry or be sad, they shouldn’t come see me in the recovery room. She told them that I said I'd beat the disease and that I would, and to only approach me with confidence and positivity. She told my friends and colleagues that if they wanted to support me, they needed to do the same. They needed to believe in me like she did. And so, everyone did. Just like that, my mom became the leader and the backbone of the greatest and most loving support system ever created.

I credit my doctors for saving my life. I credit my diet and exercise regimen for saving my life. I credit myself -- my attitude and will to live -- for saving my life.

And I credit my mom with saving my life.

My mom didn’t just spring into action on my diagnosis day. She has been a hero – my living, breathing, day-in-and-day-out hero, from the moment I was born. Her strength, love, support, and unswerving belief in the fact that I was someone truly special in this world has made me the person I am today. Without my mom, I never would have gone to Duke or Stanford…I never would have become a lawyer…I never would have become WunderGlo.

Imagine having a person that you could call on, day or night (and at any hour of the night), for anything. To joke around, to reminisce about a memory, to brainstorm ideas about my non-profit, to talk about relationships, to make up a crazy song and sing it a few dozen times, to buy and bring me orange juice or my favorite vegan hot wings from the Thai place across town, or even to keep me company if I can’t sleep at night. That has been my mom for the last 30 years (and all of those examples are from this year, actually – special shout out for those hot wings during a chemo week when that was all I wanted to eat, you were exhausted and super busy with work, and Will and Dad didn’t want to get me them).

My mom is my partner in crime, my best friend, and my rock. There is only one human being on this Earth that I can trust without even a shred of hesitation and it's her. She comes through for me like no other, and I can feel that she truly enjoys and relishes being my mother. It is her love and unyielding support that I have been cradled in my whole life. When you have that type of grounding, you can do anything in this world. And that’s exactly why I have.

So Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. You are the best person I’ve ever known. You are a champion, a leader, and the greatest there ever was. I’m blessed for many reasons, but I’m most blessed in this life to have you as my mom. I love you, I'm proud of you, and I'm honored to be your daughter.

Just For Laughs

So last Sunday, I decided that I'd start a different kind of blog. A funny one, made up entirely of "gif" images, describing my cancer-killing adventures in the most entertaining way possible.

And so Cancer LOLs was born.

I hope you like it.

http://cancerlols.tumblr.com/

In no way will Cancer LOLs take the place of the WunderGlo blog, so don't even stress. Just figured I'd add another thing to my plate. HA!

Chemo Round 27

You know what? If you do something for long enough, you can pretty much get used to anything.

On Monday, I got behind the driver’s seat and cruised to Norris, eager to take a bite out of cancer during my 27^th round of chemo. Before my diagnosis, I probably could never have imagined this kind of bi-weekly routine becoming “normal,” but that’s exactly what it feels like now. 

My time at Norris went well – I knocked out my blood work last week, so I breezed into my appointment with Taline and Dr. Lenz, had some laughs and some hugs, and before I knew it, I was in my own private room and in my own private bed for chemo. I started infusing around 2pm, and I was all done and hooked up to my bag o’ chemo by 5pm. Easy as pie. Before Monday, I was a little skeptical at this whole “afternoon appointment” thing that Dr. Lenz wanted me to start doing (I am notoriously late for our morning appointments which wouldn’t be that bad in and of itself, but my fellow warriors are evidently super punctual because the day hospital is PACKED by about 10am), but I’m a believer now. This is much easier than showing up late and sleepy, then waiting for hours to get my treatment. Note to self: don’t question Dr. Lenz (most of the time, at least).

Unlike my post-Coachella Chemo Round 26, I kept myself fully hydrated before, during, and after treatment. As a result, everything went very well, especially in the poop department. I am a lucky woman to have had three surgeries where my bowels were either cut up, picked at, or seriously jostled, and live day to day with zero GI issues. To be on my 14th round of Irinotecan and to not even need an Immodium? Yeah…I’m very fortunate. And I’m very grateful. Great job, body of mine.

So now it’s Wednesday, which is typically my toughest day…but I’m feeling very good. I detached myself from my bag o’ around noon, caught up on emails, took a refreshing shower, and ate some delicious food (big shout out to the Veggie Grill for those yummy vegan hot wings). After watching lots of playoff hoops over the last couple of days, I’m itching to get to the gym tonight to get some shots up. That’s right -- I’m going to the gym on a “chemo Wednesday.” Definitely not a common occurrence but, hey, basketball is calling my name. I’ll throw in some weights while I’m there, just to ensure that I am indeed getting tougher and stronger by the day. A cancer warrior is always looking for ways to get the upper hand on the disease.

There’s no doubt about it: Chemo Round 27 went extremely well. The sun is shining, I’m loving life, and cancer is going down.