Another Magical Day in Durham

The minute I was discharged from the hospital last Thursday, I had a little idea. It included me, my three nurses, a rental car, and driving to Durham for the Duke/Temple game on our last full day on the East Coast.

Driving nearly five hours to go to a Duke game, cheer my head off, and then heading back north for five hours. All on Day 21 after surgery -- a day when almost every nurse said I'd still be in the hospital.

An improbable, unlikely dream (at best), right?

Well...

We rented a car a couple of days ago.

Yesterday, Coach K's assistant, Gerry Brown, informed me that she would snag us four tickets to the game (this time, I needed to sit in the upper section so I could have a supportive backing to my seat).

And today, we drove to Durham for the game.

It was, yet again, another magical time at Duke. The Blue Devils convincingly beat Temple, I spent some quality time with the Krzyzewski family post-game, and my heart was again filled with that special brand of gratitude and joy that only Duke Basketball can bring me.

I dreamed of Durham as I rested in my hospital bed last week, and my dream came true today.

And tomorrow, I'm coming home.

I'm the happiest, luckiest girl in the world.

So How Much Cancer Was There?

During the last couple of weeks, you’ve learned a few things -- my surgery was successful, I’m officially in remission, and I’m recovering in record time. What you don’t know is what Dr. Sugarbaker encountered when he opened up my abdomen. How much cancer did the brilliant surgeon actually “pick out”?

Lots. Like, a scary amount.

Let me tell you, dear readers, your pal WunderGlo had a ridiculous amount of cancer in the ol’ body. Despite feeling strong and healthy in all of the days leading up to my surgery date, there was an extensive amount of disease lingering in my body. A thousand baby tumors on my small intestines, cancer in my belly button and spleen and gall bladder and right ovary, and even a tumor in my rectum. In 11 hours of surgery, Dr. Sugarbaker performed 17 different procedures to get me cancer-free. It’s clear why Dr. Ramos freaked out the first time he witnessed the extent of the peritoneal disease in my body. “The cancer” was no joke.

I remember the doctors initially telling me about “the cancer” that inhabited my body. They described it as “very aggressive.” I just smiled and said, “Well, I’m very aggressive, too.” As it turns out, they were right. “The cancer” was very aggressive, and had run rampant. Luckily, I was right, too. Despite the extensive amount of disease in my abdominal cavity, when Dr. Sugarbaker sliced me open and took a look at it, he found that a substantial amount of it was dead. Dead as a doornail. So annihilated that Dr. Sugarbaker noted that he’d never seen cancer so white, calcified, and dead-looking. In 40 years, he’d never seen such dead cancer. He noted that, had the chemo that Dr. Lenz administered to me not worked as brilliantly as it had, the surgery probably would not have been successful (as in, there would’ve been too much disease to “pick out”).

That means that all that cancer-killing I was talking about over the past couple of months was 1) actually happening, 2) was happening in grand fashion, 3) played a large role in saving my life.

I believed in my brilliant Dr. Lenz, the chemo cocktail he gave me every two weeks, and my body’s powerful ability to destroy cancer while remaining healthy during the entire chemo process. And it all worked out. Pretty miraculous, I’d say.

Finding My Inner Rocky

My three nurses and I braved the chilly weather and headed to Philly today. We had delicious drinks at La Colombe, a wonderful dinner at Cichetteria 19, caught up with my Duke buddy Eric and his friend Christa, and soaked up the City of Brotherly Love.

And, of course, we went to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the location of the famous jog up the steps and triumphant pose struck by Rocky Balboa during the ever-inspiring training montage in Rocky.

I had dreamed of these steps for the past few months, and tried to channel Rock as I pushed myself at the gym, during my jogs, and while I shot hoops. I thought of Rocky as I gritted my teeth and hauled myself out of bed a couple of days after my surgery. I thought of Rocky as I wheeled my IV pole down the halls of Washington Hospital Center. And I've been thinking of him every day since I've left WHC, as I've pushed myself to get stronger every day.

And today, feeling strong and healthy, I posed with the Rocky statue next to the stairs, climbed the stairs -- walking at first, then briskly hopping up the last half dozen steps. When I got to the top, I outstretched my arms, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and gave thanks for the triumph of this cancer-killing adventure. In that moment, I knew how blessed and lucky I truly was, and how meaningful my life would always be as a result of this fight for my life. I fought for my life and I won.

I felt like a champion today. I felt like Rocky. It was the feeling of coming full circle, and it felt beautiful.

Party Time!!

Today, I had my first post-surgery party -- the East Coast installation, if you will. It took place at my cousins' (Vivian and Brendan) house in Maryland, started at 3pm, and was an incredibly moving and wonderful event.

Friends from high school, college, law school, O'Melveny, and my new cancer-killing adventure were in attendance, creating a beautiful cornucopia of all of the wonderful people I've been blessed to know and befriend in my life. I had a wonderful time regaling my pals with my hospital stories, and showed off my wounds many, many times. I sipped on sparkling apple cider, indulged in vegan chocolate cake, and gobbled up all the goodwill and support that my friends lovingly and generously doused on me.

 

Will gave me a warm, heartfelt toast. To follow that, my friend Tracy's mother serenaded me with a moving, powerful verse from "You Are So Beautiful." I couldn't hold back my tears as Tracy's mom sang her own version of the lyrics to me: "You're everything we've hoped for, you're everything we want to be, you are so beautiful to me." Talk about inspiring.

There's really nothing more I can ask for at this point. To be loved by so many, to be held in such a high regard, and to beat cancer and have a new lease on life at the same time. Despite the pain and the scars, this journey has been so satisfying and gratifying. My heart is full of joy and my soul is, too. I feel incredibly blessed and truly lucky. It's one thing to have great doctors, a strong body, and a positive mindset. It's quite another thing to have a powerfully large and devoted support system. I always knew I was surrounded by beautiful people, but it's never been so real or powerful until now.

I think people tend to fear disease or illness - or death, really - because they fear the feeling of being alone or isolated. But we're never alone. We always have our family and true friends. For me, knowing that - and feeling that, deep within myself - is what has kept my heart beating, my spirits soaring, and my journey triumphant.

 Let the celebrations of life, love, and cancer-killing domination begin!

Just Chilling Out

Today, I decided to give my body a break and spend most of the day relaxing. Yesterday, I was out late watching a scary movie and I'm throwing my first post-surgery party tomorrow, so i figured just chilling out on this crisp Saturday would be a good idea. I watched some pretty solid TV and cuddled with my buddy Morgan, who flew out from San Francisco yesterday to see me. I took my pain meds when I needed them, took a long and hot shower, and pampered myself in cozy clothes and lots of blankets. Ahh, so nice.

During my first chemo portion of my cancer-killing adventure, I learned about the importance of giving my body the rest it needs, even if it doesn't seem like it really needs it. The thing with my body is that it's deceptively strong. Your pal WunderGlo has a pain tolerance level that is off the charts, so it's hard to actually know when my body is hurting or tired. For example, after examining and removing my gall bladder, Dr. Sugarbaker noted that it was filled with stones and that it was clear that I had, at some point, passed at least a couple of gall bladder stones.

Whoa. When did that happen? Who knows? I'm sure it was painful, but I probably popped a couple of Tums and got on my merry way. Same thing with my broken pinkie finger, which had to have happened at some point during my sophomore year in high school.

These days, I'm trying to be kinder and more sensitive to the ol' body. Like an observant caretaker, I'm trying to anticipate any need or want my body might have before it becomes obvious.

My body has been so good to me, given all it has endured -- and how it has thrived -- during my cancer killing-fest. It's time for me to return the favor.