Chemo Round 22

Yesterday, i turned up my jams, got my new t-shirt on, and headed to Norris for Chemo Round 22. Like mostly everyone, I too got a day off for President's Day -- a day off from treatment -- but by Tuesday, I was ready to get after those silly cancer cells. I knew Norris would be a packed house considering that all the Monday chemo kids were sharing time with the Tuesday chemo kids, but I don't think I was quite prepared for the onslaught of cancer warriors. Even though I showed up at around 11am, I didn't start my chemo until 2ish, and didn't get out of there until 6ish.  

But it was no big deal, because I had my buddies with me.

No, I'm not talking about my three nurses, although they were there. I'm not even referring to my sister-in-law, who made the trek from NYC to spend some quality time with me and Will. I'm talking about two of my friends who are also my fellow cancer warriors. Two chicks with Stage IV colon cancer who face their struggles with grace and strength. I'm not sure how cool they are with me using their actual names on the blog, so I'll go with A. and A. since those are the initials of both of their first names. I've known one A. for over a year now -- she found out about the WunderGlo blog through Dr. Lenz and we met randomly when we were both getting PET/CT scans. The other A. contacted me in September of last year, recently diagnosed and needing advice -- she took my advice and is now Dr. Lenz's patient, too. The three of us, entrusted to the care of our brilliant oncologist, doing everything we can to beat this disease.

Sometimes on this cancer journey of mine, it's good for me to focus on myself -- my attitude, my path, my challenges. But sometimes, it's comforting and empowering to share stories and strength with fellow cancer warriors, especially these two tough women. We inspire each other, make each other laugh, and compare notes. We travel along a path that most would never want to travel, but here we are: strong, resolute, determined to fight for our lives and determined to stay alive, for ourselves and for our loved ones. We don't give up, and we'll never give up. We show others what it's like to have true grit, even when the chips are down, the odds are long, and the treatment puts us through the ringer. Cancer is a real jackass of a disease, but the family of cancer warriors it creates is a truly special one. 

So was Chemo Round 22 long and laborious? Yeah, a little bit. But did I get by with a little help from my friends? Absolutely.

A Valentine for my Oncologist

It's Valentine's Day, and while most people are focused on flowers, chocolate, and fancy dinners with their significant others, I wanted to take some time to send a little love to my oncologist.

The bond between doctor and patient -- especially if that patient is battling cancer -- is one of those make or break relationships. This isn't like your dentist that you see once a year, or a doctor you check in with when you need a prescription for something. This is a person you see all the time -- for treatment, for check-ups, for discussions about scan results. This is a person with whom you discuss every aspect of your health -- your energy levels, your GI function, whether or not you're having heart palpitations, what you should and shouldn't be eating, how much you're sleeping.

Oh yeah, and this is a person ultimately tasked with keeping you alive. Without the care of an oncologist, a cancer patient is probably in some serious trouble.

As you can gather, the oncologist/cancer warrior relationship is not a casual one. In some cases -- like when the doctor's too cold and withdrawn or the patient's too angry or freaked out -- it's probably an uneasy relationship. But luckily, I know nothing about that. Because in other cases -- like when the doctor is Heinz-Josef Lenz and the patient is WunderGlo -- the relationship is nothing short of legendary. 

The thing with Dr. Lenz is he's way more than you think he'd be. His reputation as The best GI oncologist, as THE thought leader in colon cancer, precedes him. You can't think of Dr. Lenz without thinking of his brilliant career and the even more incredible things that he'll do in the future. You can't think of Dr. Lenz without being awed by him. 

But when I think of him, I quickly get past all that, because that's hardly what he's all about. Dr. Lenz is, without a doubt, one of the most compassionate and caring people I've ever met. And I'm not talking about "the most compassionate and caring" among medical professionals -- I'm comparing him to the thousands of people I've met and known in every walk of life. Dr. Lenz doesn't just care for his patients -- he cares dearly for them. He doesn't just want them to be well -- he wants more than anything for them to be well. And you can't spend one minute with him as his patient without knowing that just as surely as you know your name.

Of course, Dr. Lenz and I were fast friends. I remember the day I met him, fresh out of surgery with Dr. Ramos at Good Samaritan and a brand new entrant into the world of cancer. I knew my diagnosis was serious and my chances at survival were low, but I wasn't stunned or shaken by any of that. As I waited in a clinic room for him, I was totally focused on beating cancer and drafting a winning team. I knew that my oncologist would be the key part of that team, only second in the chain of command to myself. I heard Dr. Lenz coming down the hall -- the now-unmistakable sound of his marching feet -- and within seconds, he was at my side, rattling off diet and vitamin suggestions and his vision for my treatment. He didn't hesitate when discussing my diagnosis, and never made a sad face or apologized for what was in store for me. He never pitied me, nor did he treat me in a detached or distant way. He was right by my side, and he would continue to be if I chose him as my doctor. I could tell right away that Dr. Lenz was just like me in one important way: neither of us were afraid of cancer. I knew right away that he was my guy. 

It's been almost a year and a half since that day, and Dr. Lenz has become one of the most important people in my life. Far more than the doctor primarily responsible for saving my life (no big deal, right?), Dr. Lenz is my friend, someone that I can talk to and joke with about anything. He's also my partner in the fight against cancer, a board member of The WunderGlo Foundation and a tireless advocate for finding the cure. He's the same guy I'll argue with about vegan eating (don't worry, he'll come around soon), plan speaking engagements with, and smack in the arm after a good joke. I look up to him, I rely on him, I respect him, and I love him.

It's hard to truly quantify how much Dr. Lenz means to me, but let me put it this way: if i had to choose between never knowing him and never having cancer, or having cancer and knowing him, I'd pick having cancer every single time. Every single time.

So Happy Valentine's Day, Dr. Lenz. You inspire me every day.

12 Rounds for the Cancer Warrior

The night before every chemo treatment, I rummage through my closet and drawers, looking for the perfect t-shirt. The shirt that will inspire me and encourage me to be strong, happy, and focused on cancer-killing. My t-shirt is my uniform for the day -- it is both a reminder to others and to myself that cancer has nothin' on me. I've always been a huge fan of t-shirts (if you've seen my closet, you know that they comprise about 50% of my wardrobe), and I love how a shirt can represent something important to you, make people laugh or think, and generally serve as another way of expressing who you are.

A few months ago, I got to thinking: wouldn't it be awesome if there was a line of t-shirts completely dedicated to cancer patients and their supporters, comfortable and cool shirts that help express what it is to be a proud, tough, happy cancer warrior?

So then I designed it. 

Along with my friend Vinnie, founder of Lucky Soul Clothing, I'm happy to announce that I've released a line of shirts especially designed for cancer warriors and their loved ones called "12 Rounds for the Cancer Warrior." 12 rounds because a normal chemo protocol consists of 12 rounds, as does a boxing match -- clever, right? So far, we're debuting two shirts (our mock-up designs featured here), but we'll be releasing a new shirt each month as we go forward in 2012. Our official 12 Rounds website can be found here: www.cancerwarriortees.com . 

The quality of the shirts are great (I got a sample shirt yesterday and haven't taken it off), and the spirit behind their messages are exactly what I hope to instill and inspire in my fellow cancer warriors. What makes this venture even more satisfying is that a third of the proceeds of each shirt purchase goes directly to The WunderGlo Foundation. 

So dear readers, do me a favor and spread the word about 12 Rounds for the Cancer Warrior. And pick up a shirt for yourself if you're so inclined.

Now you know what I'll be wearing to my next round of chemo.

Chemo Round 21

Now that it's officially over (I consider the moment I feel normal, without a hint of chemo side effects, as the official conclusion to a round), it's time to catch you up on chemo round 21.

This was the soonest after surgery that I've ever received chemo -- just 3 and a half weeks after being sliced open from stern to stem. For the last 3 and a half weeks, I've been tending to my incision wound, walking around gingerly, and being at peace with the fact that I'm totally forbidden from hitting the gym. I've lost a little over 10 pounds since surgery, and I can tell that my muscles are not what they used to be. It's a simple fact that I'm not at my strongest at the moment, but there is no time to waste in my cancer-killing adventures. It was time for chemo whether my body liked it or not.

Turns out, my body was pretty ready for it.

My blood work was great (indicating good organ function everywhere), my CEA tumor marker had held firm at pre-surgery levels (quite a feat considering that I didn't have chemo for 6 weeks), and my PET/CT scan results were solid. After my usual pow-wow with Dr. Lenz, I was in my VIP bed in the day hospital chillin' out and killin' cancer. I was done with my IV, attached to my "bag o' chemo," and out of Norris by 1:30pm. 

I always get a little bit of steroids as a pre-med, and I felt it this time around. Definitely left Norris energized and humming, and well enough to grab lunch with my mom and Will in Silver Lake. I continued to feel good until around 10ish, when the "acid belly/gross headache" feeling settled in, as usual. It wasn't too bad this time and the feeling was gone by the morning. Tuesday, as all chemo Tuesdays, wasn't too tough either. My appetite was decent and I generally felt pretty well.

Wednesday morning was a little tougher, though.

Wednesday mornings are when I get detached from my "bag o' chemo" and I don't think I've really described the feeling when I'm first detached. I almost have a sixth sense as to when my pump of 5FU has run out -- I start tossing and turning in bed, my throat feels coated in a few layers of grossness, and I get pretty anxious about getting the needle out of my chest. The minute the needle is detached, I feel a mixture of relief and queasiness. Relief is easy enough to imagine, but allow me to explain the queasiness. It's as if I just fell face-first into a pile of dog poop. It's not the kind of queasiness that comes from a stomach ache or a headache. My body feels fine - no cramping, no twisting, no pain at all. It's just the thought of the "bag o' chemo" that makes me retch a little bit. Usually, I'm able to chug some water, picture a beautiful landscape, and get over that wave of grossness fairly quickly.

This time, I couldn't. It was 6am, and I couldn't stop myself from feeling utterly grossed out. I start to heave a little bit -- dry heaves, of course. After about 8 of them and not a drop of vomit, I knew that the moment had passed and that I was alright. And I was. I crashed into bed and slept like a baby.  

The rest of Wednesday was challenging, as Wednesdays always are. My head felt heavy and my energy levels weren't good. I chilled out in bed all day, only taking breaks to eat small bites of fruit and continue my impressive performances in the bathroom. Even amidst the chemo and the antibiotics I'm on (for the incision wound), meds that are both supposed to cause diarrhea, my GI system has held up like a rock star. Even when I'm feeling like poop, my poops are perfect. As the day progressed, I started to feel a little better, as if a fog was slowly lifting. Today, the fog is gone.

I had to battle this week, but I got through chemo when I was at my weakest, which is a huge moral victory. Chemo is never going to be harder than this round and, when you consider what others have to go through with their own treatments, it wasn't actually that hard. 

So what helped me finally shake those chemo side effects for good?  

Well, at 6pm last night, my beloved Duke basketball team played our arch-rivals, UNC. We were coming off a heartbreaking loss against Miami and were facing a very talented Carolina team (as much as it pains me to admit). According to all the experts, we weren't supposed to win the game, but I believed in our guys.  Whether I'd watch the game wasn't really a question despite the fact that getting worked up over a loss could have made me feel worse. I wouldn't have missed that game, win or lose, for the world. So there I was, in the robe I wore all day and looking unimpressivly limp, reclined in my parents' back room and ready to watch my Blue Devils fight...just like me. 

There were highs and lows during the game, and times where I wanted to just shut my eyes and concede defeat. UNC had us on the ropes with a 10 point lead for most of the second half. But, of course, I didn't shut my eyes or concede defeat. I stuck with the team and kept on believing that we could emerge victorious.  And we did. At the buzzer. A come from behind victory of epic proportions. Our freshman phenom, Austin Rivers, scored 29 points including the game winning 3-pointer that sealed the deal and had me screaming, jumping, and crying tears of joy. 

In sports and in life -- and especially when you're fighting cancer -- you simply can't give up on yourself and the people that you trust and love. You always believe in your doctors, your support system, and yourself. No matter how long the odds look, you've got to stick around, show up, and keep fighting. My Blue Devils could have given up last night, but they never did. Because of that, their victory was all the more glorious and especially inspiring to me.

When interviewed after the game, Austin said something that doesn't just apply to the team's big win, but to my first foray back into chemo for this 21st round: 

"It's amazing what can happen when you have courage."

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I will go back to Norris. I will see Dr. Lenz, get my port accessed, and receive chemo drugs for several hours. Three and a half weeks out of surgery, I will be back to actively killing cancer.

I can't wait.