Chemo Round 41

Chemo Round 41 was one of the best rounds ever…and when you’ve had 41 rounds, that’s saying something. As I mentioned last time, Dr. Lenz and I are tinkering away at my chemo regimen in an attempt to make things as smooth and easy as possible.

This time around, we kept the steroids at their last-round levels (I’m taking 15 milligrams of Decadron), changed my anti-nausea medication (to Aloxi), and got fluids while I infused with my chemo drugs. On top of that, I hydrated much more than usual – chugging a couple of coconut waters on Monday along with my normal drinking diet of juices and herbal tea. I was convinced that if I fought the chemo side effects – all of which are dehydration-related for me -- before they came around, I could get through chemo easier than ever before.

My plan worked like a charm. The sick headache that usually comes on Monday and Tuesday nights didn’t come. No mucous-y saliva this time around, either. I spent many productive hours on the computer on Monday and Tuesday, ate like a champ, and slept soundly. And by Wednesday morning, when I’m usually dragging and interested in napping all day, I was up, showered, and putting on my makeup by the time my mom came over at noon. Pretty awesome, right? I was psyched.

My mom was over to take me back to Norris for more fluids. Like last time, I knew that if I got fluids on Wednesday, I could sail through Thursday. And again, my plan worked well. I cuddled in my bed at the Day Hospital, intravenously guzzled a big bag of fluids, and made it home in time to watch the Duke game. I was in the office on Thursday and haven’t looked back since.

The mad scientists (me and Lenz) have tweaked the formula just right. FOLFIRI + Avastin along with our clever changes are working like a charm (my CEA continues to be stable) while the side effects are becoming less noticeable. The ultimate goal -- which we are actively achieving -- is for chemo to be just a blip on my radar, because I can’t be sidelined for long in 2013…not with the big plans I have in store.  

Chemo Round 40 and Turning 31

Chemo Round 40 at Norris went as planned – no problems, in and out quickly, fun times with Lenz and my crew, and some good old-fashioned cancer killing. I had a little bit of a gross headache on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, but that was nothing your buddy WunderGlo couldn’t handle. By Thursday, I was back in action and in the office. This round, I started tinkering with chemo a little bit – upping my steroid dosage just a tiny bit and getting fluids on Wednesday – in hopes of making chemo as easy and smooth as possible. Don’t get me wrong: it’s always fairly easy for me, thankfully. I focus on hydrating and resting and usually get through those couple of down days unscathed. But next year is going to be a very big year for me with the “On a Mission” project I’ve mentioned, and I need chemo to slow me down as little as possible then. So, for now, I’m experimenting on my end. The extra 5 milligrams of steroids made Monday night a breeze and most of Tuesday super easy, so I think I’ll stick with it. The fluids on Wednesday alleviated any dehydration-related issues (parched tongue, dull headache, reduced energy levels), so I’m definitely going to stick with that, too. I’m a little bit of a mad scientist over here, doing what I can to help my body take chemo in stride. I bounced back from chemo by Thursday, and not a moment too soon. My birthday was coming up, after all, and I was hosting not one but two parties. Friday night was an old school slumber party with a small group of friends, and Saturday night was a blow-out bash at my casa with 50 or so of my family and friends. As always, I’m in charge of parties – even my own – so I had to jump on figuring out our caterer, where I’d get my yummy vegan cake, buying alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages (in honor of my liver, I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol – actually, I haven’t had a drink all year), getting a few decorations together, and creating a slideshow and playlist. I took care of everything just in time (actually, for the sake of being completely honest, I was about 15 minutes late to my own party on Saturday), and had an incredible couple of nights with people I love dearly. My birthday always means a lot to me, and now that I’m going head to head with cancer every day, it means even more. Getting older, day by day, is the ultimate “eff you” to cancer, and one that I relish. Spending my birthday with my friends and family (including Dr. Lenz) made it even better. And knowing that the coming year will be the biggest of my life (with my big project and all) made it the best birthday yet.

On A Mission

Recently, on this blog and on Facebook (and in real life, too), I’ve made mention of a big project I’m working on with Dr. Lenz. This project is, quite simply, the most ambitious and rewarding thing I have ever done in my life. Given my history of doing ambitious and rewarding things, that’s saying something. I am about to embark on something that, when successful, will change a lot of things. Maybe the world. Actually, yes. It will change the world.

In a spiritual sense, the work that Dr. Lenz and I are doing, which will bear fruit early next year when we launch our project, has made my life’s purpose crystal clear. And this work has shown me that my life and all of its circumstances all make sense: my education and career prior to my diagnosis…the severe and improbable diagnosis I received at the way-too-young-for-this age of 28…the incredible, miraculous way I’ve found a way to not only survive but thrive since that diagnosis. It all makes sense.

In many ways, I feel compelled to take on this work not only because of my current status as an in-treatment, not-in-remission, you’re-going-to-do-chemo-for-the-forseeable-future-with-no-end-in-sight-so-you’d-better-get-used-to-it cancer warrior, but for my friends. For all of my friends who battle this disease and aren’t in the physical shape that I’m in to take on a project of this magnitude. For my friends who struggle physically. For my friends who are afraid sometimes. For my cancer warrior friends who have more courage and grit in their pinky fingers than most people have in their entire bodies. And for my friends who have died, too. They inspire me on this mission.

And Dr. Lenz inspires me. He may be my doctor, one of my best friends, my partner in crime, and one of my favorite people in the world, but let’s make no bones about it: he is one of the foremost colon cancer experts in the world. His reputation precedes him worldwide. He is a brilliant clinician and oncologist. And within him, there is a fire much like mine. He is passionate, endlessly smart, and focused. I simply could not ask for a better teammate in this project, in the business of saving my life, and in the business of life in general. Dr. Lenz is special, and having him by my side has enriched my life more than I can say.

And so, the mission…the project itself. I can’t unveil the contours of what we’re doing just yet, but I can tell you that we’ll publicly launch our campaign in February of 2013. And I can tell you that if you send me your email address, either through comments to this blog post or by emailing me at glo@wunderglo.com, I can share some more details with you in the next month or so.

 One more thing. It’s an important “one more thing.”

The success of our project’s launch depends on a few things, and among them is building a bit of a nest egg for The WunderGlo Foundation. The Foundation will be sending out some end-of-year solicitation emails, I’ll be running a fun Facebook fundraising campaign starting tomorrow (December 1), and I’ll be doing everything I can to raise enough money to ensure that this project gets off to the start that it deserves. And I’m asking you, dear readers, to help in any way you can. You can make an online donation at www.wunderglofoundation.org/donate or you can mail a check (made out to The WunderGlo Foundation) to 3260 Bennett Dr., Los Angeles, CA 90068. You may not know exactly what the project is, but you know me, and I know you believe in me.

I’m on a mission, and I won’t stop until I’ve seen it through.

Chemo Round 39 and Giving Thanks

I knew Chemo Round 39 would be a bit of a challenge, but not for the reasons you'd guess. My time at Norris was great, as usual -- I popped in earlier this time around and was out by 2pm. I headed back home, hydrated and ate well, and rested. Resting was key, because Tuesday night and Wednesday morning were not going to be easy. It wouldn't have been easy for anyone, let alone a person with a needle in their chest, guzzling up chemotherapy drugs. But I was going to do it. On Tuesday night, my three nurses and I took a red-eye flight to New Jersey followed by an early morning flight to the Bahamas. Imagine walking around LAX (and the Newark airport) and taking two 4+ hour flights while feeling hungover (headachy, queasy), dehydrated, a little congested (chemo always gives me a slightly stuffy nose and -- this part is pretty gross -- thicker, more mucous-y saliva), and with a needle in your chest. It wasn't my favorite experience in the world, but it wasn't terrible either. And it was worth it. I was heading to the Bahamas for this Thanksgiving holiday to cheer on my Blue Devils. Duke was set to play in the Battle for Atlantis tournament at the Atlantis Resort in Nassau, and I wasn't going to miss it. After experiencing Duke's win at the Maui Invitational last Thanksgiving, I had my heart set on following the team (led by my constant supporter and hero, Coach K) to the Bahamas this year. For people who aren't sports fans, I'm sure it's not easy to comprehend my love for Duke Basketball, and how the team inspires me and fills my heart with joy. But they do. I love basketball and, in my opinion, there is no team that plays it better and the way the game is supposed to be played more than my Blue Devils. And it goes without saying that there is no coach who does it better than Coach K. And beyond that, the family that is Duke Basketball is a beautiful thing to see and -- since my diagnosis and friendship with Coach K -- a beautiful thing to be a part of. To love your team because they play great is one thing, but to love your team because they play great and, more importantly, are great people is quite another. So we made it to Atlantis on Wednesday. Since Monday, I had almost counted the seconds to when I'd be able to rest in my plush hotel bed and let the after-effects of chemo slowly ebb away. I paced myself, though, placing one foot in front of the other, getting through each task one by one until the bed was mine. I slept most of the day on Wednesday and woke up on Thursday still not at 100%. I was operating at about 80%, which was good enough for me. I hit the gym, then the pool, and made my way to the ballroom-turned-basketball arena for Duke's first game. We won that game (vs. Minnesota). And the next (vs. VCU). And the championship game (vs. Louisville) last night. And as we racked up wins and I racked up trips down the lazy river, I knew my body was fully bouncing back and that Round 39 of chemo was a distant memory. Instead, my memories consist of happily howling while I flew down steep water slides and happily howling while my Blue Devils soared to victory. In the world of WunderGlo, the Thanksgiving holiday doesn't get much better than that.

The Hardest Part

You all know how I live by now. Chemo every two weeks, during which I lay low from Monday to Wednesday and pop out of bed like a new woman by Thursday. After that, I feel as if I've never had even one round of chemo treatment. I go about my days just as any person without cancer would: at work and the gym, out with friends, driving in traffic, shopping at Whole Foods, going nuts while watching Duke Basketball games, etc. Except I don't go about my days just as any person without cancer would: I run The WunderGlo Foundation, email my oncologist about everything under the sun, and interact with other cancer warriors over email and Facebook (sometimes spending hours in a given week talking on the phone with newly diagnosed patients or their spouses/children). There's no getting cancer out of my life, and I wouldn't want to. I embrace the challenges of fighting the cancer within my own body, and I more than embrace my community of cancer warriors -- I love my community of cancer warriors. But with the bonds of friendship comes the vulnerability we all feel when we care about someone. We feel pain when we lose them, whether through strained relationships or time and distance. But nothing, nothing feels worse than when we actually lose them. When they die. I'm only 30 years old, but because of cancer, I have watched many of my friends die. And I have no illusions when it comes to the cold, hard truth that more of my friends will succumb to this disease. This is, by far, the hardest part of being a cancer warrior. The physical pain that I've endured is nothing. The fact that I can't have my own biological children is nothing. The fact that my own long-term survival is still something that nobody can ensure is nothing. These things are nothing compared to the sadness, frustration, and anger I feel when I lose a friend to cancer. But that's not all I feel. I feel compelled to make things different. I feel like its my duty, as a patient who is thriving while in treatment, to help anyone who needs it. To offer an encouraging word, to share my thoughts on treatment or diet or fitness. To try to empower fellow patients to take control of their treatment paths and feel as confident and strong as I do. And finally, to dedicate myself to being a part of the force that finds the cure. The CURE. For everyone. I am actively working on that last part, but I'm not quite ready to share all the details with you, my dear readers. But I will share the details with you. And soon. Cancer, I hope you can hear me coming for you. Because I am coming for you. And I'm not going to stop. Rest in Peace to my friends. My fellow cancer warriors. I will never forget you.