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Chemo Round 50

WunderGlo — Thu, 16 May 2013 01:41:42 +0000

Well, I made it to and through Round 50, and I did it smoothly and successfully. I feel like the utter joy emanating from my room at Norris helped boost my body’s strength while I was infusing, and that positive energy that I felt from my family and friends continued to buoy me throughout the week. Honestly, it was one of the best rounds of chemo I’ve had, and I attribute that directly to all the love and support I was feeling. It’s a weird kind of excitement to barrel through one’s 50th round of chemo, but it’s excitement nonetheless.

To recap Monday’s chemo adventure: infusion went well, I had a blast with my crew (my parents, Will, and my friends Jordan, Stoney, and Dan, Dr. Lenz, Taline, and all my nurse buddies in the day hospital), and my bloodwork numbers are looking solid. After over two and a half years of almost non-stop treatment, it’s pretty clear that I am maintaining my health. My health is not declining. My body is strong and resilient…and after 50 rounds of chemo, 3 surgeries, and 10 rounds of radiation, that feels pretty great.

My time at Norris was made even more memorable because I was being followed around by three cameras. One belonged to Jordan, who created The Wunder Project video and is always on hand to catch important moments in my life. The other two belonged to my friend Adam, who is shooting a documentary called Pursuing Happiness. While I guzzled my chemo, I talked with Adam about my approach to beating the hell out of cancer and how my perspective on life has changed as a result of my diagnosis and everything that has followed.

And, in case you want to know, here’s how my perspective has changed. Things that annoy or upset some or even most people just don’t really affect me. I don’t live in a world with daily aggravations or annoyances. These things just don’t register with me. The big things still hurt me, obviously: losing a loved one, seeing someone I love being hurt, seeing injustice and brutality in the world. Of course, I still care deeply about those things and I work my butt off to make them right as much as I can. But the lesser things – the traffic jams, the rude people you may bump into (or, more likely, bump into you), a little leak in skylight portion of my roof. Yeah, I don’t really care. So my blood pressure rarely goes up, I’m generally pretty chilled out, and because of that, I’m relaxed enough to appreciate the beauty around me even if that beauty is in the shape of seeing a person laugh or sing in their car as I’m bumper to bumper on the 101 Freeway.

I bounced back from chemo relatively quickly this time around, fully resuming my normally-scheduled activities by Thursday. I am always grateful by my body’s ability to tolerate this aggressive regimen. I guess my old bag of bones wants to survive as much as my mind and spirit do. And that’s a blessing, and one that I’m constantly aware of and for which I am deeply grateful. Moving on to the next frontier: Round 51!

My Mom

WunderGlo — Sun, 12 May 2013 18:09:41 +0000

It’s Mother’s Day, and that means it’s our special moment to thank our mommas for all the great things they’ve done for us and for all the love. We all tell our moms that they are the best, and they are. They propelled us to be the people we are, they love and support us endlessly, and they are our go-to person in times of both struggle and joy. Before I update you on Chemo Round 50 or talk any more about what’s going on with me, I want to tell you some things about my mom.

My mom has been my hero since the moment I could breathe. Quite literally, while I was in the womb, my mom – 20 years old at the time – had the foresight and wherewithal to read to me. A 20 year old, reading Shakespeare to her unborn baby. She talked to me, too. She told me how much I was loved and how I was going to be so special – she talked to me all the time. She played classical music for me, and probably threw in a little Elton John in there, too. Most of all, she knew in her heart that her baby was going to be a force to be reckoned with, someone amazing, and she treated me like the most precious thing in the world even before I was born. And I think I felt that love and that fierce belief in me even before I emerged from her womb and met this world. I was ready to go right from the get-go because I already had a warrior in my corner.

It’s one thing to have your mom support you, or help you when you need it. But to know that someone so deeply believes in your ability to be anything, to do anything, to accomplish anything…man, that’s a shot in the arm. And I’ve never felt anything but my mom’s absolutely unbending and unyielding belief in me as a human being.

My mom taught me how to read when I was three years old. Can you imagine that? A 23 year old, working full time, busting her butt to make ends meet, frickin’ teaching a three year old vowels and consonants and all the rest. And she taught me well. I became a reading machine. I became a top student later that year when my mom put me in preschool, and I continued to have a leg up in my studies because of her vision and leadership. Understand that nobody in my family had gone to college, and here was my mom, forced to drop out of college on account of me, emphasizing education and supplementing my schooling. We went to the library every single weekend. She’d get one book and I’d get about 20. We’d tear through them on Friday and Saturday nights. Instead of hitting the club and finding a babysitter for me, my mom hung out with me. She’d crank the 80s music, have dance parties with me, and then settle us down to read and read and read. When I asked my mom one of those “why?” questions about the world, she’d take at least 10 minutes to fully explain the answer. She’d play songs for me and explain the lyrics and the meaning of the songs. With subtlety, so I could figure it out myself, she told me to pay attention to how many women CEOs and women doctors and women U.S. Presidents there were. She taught me about money and how to break a 20 with 4 5s or 20 1s. She did all of this before I got to Kindergarten. Before Kindergarten! It’s no frickin’ wonder I’m so damn smart. My mom did that.

As I grew up, my mom continued to be my best friend. I never had a “rebellious” period in my life, because why the hell would I? My mom was the most open, honest, fun, and supportive sidekick I could ever have. I had no intention of straying from the things she had taught me. My mom believed in me and I believed in my mom. She pushed me to get into club volleyball in high school, so I could hone my skills and potentially market myself to colleges as a student-athlete. Where the hell did she even get that brilliant idea? I remember my first try-out for club volleyball, when I slinked into the gym at Harvard-Westlake (a pretty fancy prep school where my club team practiced) and looked back at my mom and said, “Come on, mom! Do I have to?” My mom said some version of “hell yes,” and about 20 minutes later, I was the happiest kid in L.A., mixing it up with my future teammates and knowing that I belonged. My volleyball career, which spanned from the time I was 13 until the end of high school (I decided I wouldn’t walk on for a team in college although best believe your girl had a few schools interested in her), was one of the more rewarding and character-building things I’d done in my young life – tons of practicing, tape watching and strategizing, and balancing my commitment to the sport with my schoolwork. And I wouldn’t have had that career had it not been for my mom, identifying my talent and pushing me to do more with it.

Going to Duke University was always my dream, one that started because my mom followed Duke basketball and had me in front of the TV when they won their National Championships in 1991 and 1992. But going to Duke also posed serious financial challenges for my parents. They made too much money to qualify for financial aid but not enough to make paying tuition comfortable, so we were sort of in a pickle. Tuition, travel, and living expenses were going to make the next four years really tough on my parents if I was, in fact, going to attend my dream school. My dad, quite reasonably, was concerned. We were pretty sure that I could get an academic scholarship at a handful of schools, but not a school that saw as many incredible candidates as Duke did. My mom cleared things up for me quickly. She promised me that if I got into Duke, I’d go there. She said she didn’t care what she had to do to get me there and keep me there. She said she’d sell the house and live in an apartment. She said she’d get another job. She said she’d sell a bunch of her stuff. Lovingly, selflessly, and fiercely loyal to her little cub, my mom was adamant that I would live my dreams. And I did. My mom and dad worked their butts off, supplementing their income with some nice overtime cash, and they made it work. Without my mom’s unhesitating leadership, it may not have happened. Without her stalwart and unbending desire to make my life as great as humanly possible, it probably wouldn’t have been. Every beautiful memory at Duke, every friendship, every triumph at my gorgeous alma mater can be directly attributed to my mom. I am a Blue Devil because of my mom, and that’s one hell of a gift.

I’ve told this story before but I’ll tell it again. The night before I was diagnosed, my mom asked me what I’d do or think if I had Stage IV colon cancer. We were assured by my doctors that it likely wouldn’t be Stage IV, but my mom had the vision and preparedness to think of having that potentially difficult discussion with me. It wasn’t a difficult discussion, though. I told her without blinking that, if my diagnosis was Stage IV, I’d beat the disease. I believed in myself with the same unshakeable certainty that my mom had demonstrated throughout my entire life. This was the moment where my mom’s strength showed stronger than ever in me. I told her that I’d beat it. The next day, when my surgeon met with my parents and Will, and tearfully recounted all the cancer he’d seen and projected that I’d almost certainly be dead in two years, almost everyone in that room crumbled. My dad was a mess. Will was a mess. My surgeon was a mess. But my mom was most certainly not. She continued to take notes feverishly, not missing a detail because she knew that these details would be relayed to other medical experts in hopes of finding a treatment path for me. She didn’t cry in that moment, and moments later, she grabbed my dad by the shirt and spoke like a harsh coach to him. She told him to go to the bathroom, get his tears out, and come out strong. She then addressed my group of 25 or so family and friends, telling them about what the doctor said but assuring them that I said I’d beat the disease and that they had better get on the positivity train or else they weren’t coming with us. She told them that if any of them thought they’d cry when they saw me in the recovery room, they were not to come in the room. She called my colleagues at O’Melveny and my friends from all around and told them that if they wanted to pity me or cry at my bedside, they’d be kicked out of the hospital…by her. To be honest, I think she scared some people. But that’s my best friend. She had my back before she had any idea what an ass-kicking I’d give cancer. She heard the odds and she didn’t flinch. She believed in me, and in the moment when not believing in me and believing in the statistics quite frankly made more sense. She believed in me, and she believes in me. Throughout every round of chemo, she is by my side with bags of food and pillows and anything else I could possibly want. If I can’t get to the grocery store before a round of chemo, I can guarantee that my fridge will be stocked with everything I could ever want because my mom is on the job.

She stayed up all night with me in the hospital in the days following my Sugarbaker surgery, and walked with my freshly scarred body through the halls of Good Samaritan Hospital, Washington Hospital Center, and Keck Hospital of USC. She has looked every surgeon in the eye and listened to every tough prognosis they’ve given, fiercely taking notes and knowing, in her heart, that whatever doom and gloom they might be saying isn’t actually going to happen because her girl won’t quit. She has lived in a pretty scary world over the last two and a half years, the world in which one’s only child is facing and fighting a deadly diagnosis, and she’s emerged tougher, stronger, and more resolute because of it.

She is the strongest person I know. The smartest person I know. The most loving person I know. The most loyal person I know. The most fun-loving person I know. She is solid, she is beautiful, and she is the biggest hero and champion of my life. I am who I am only because of her. She is my mom, and I am the luckiest person in the world because of that.

Happy Mother’s Day, Momma. I am quite certain I’ve made you cry with this blog post and that pleases me endlessly. Looking forward to having a fun-filled day with you today. I love you with all of my heart. Thanks for being my ride or die best friend and my all-time road dawg.

Some Pre-Chemo Thoughts on Round 50

WunderGlo — Mon, 06 May 2013 17:13:27 +0000

In a couple of hours, I’ll be at USC Norris to embark on my 50th round of chemo. It’s not an actual milestone, but it certainly feels like one. So let me share some pre-chemo thoughts before I get to some serious cancer-killing.

I woke up this morning with a shot of adrenaline. Honestly, this feels like my first round. I’ve been bouncing around the house, bellowing and singing and generally acting like a lunatic, which is always a good sign. More than anything, I’m grateful to be alive and strong. I’m grateful that, throughout over two and a half years of treatment, I’ve never wavered in my approach to fighting cancer. I’m grateful that my positive attitude and unyielding confidence have anchored me through every round of chemo, every round of radiation, and through every surgery.

I thank my family for being unbelievably strong and supportive throughout this journey. From my grandma who texts my mom every day asking how I’m feeling, to my dad who always gives me a good foot or hand or back rub whenever I ask for one, to my mom who would literally move mountains to make my life better or easier. My family has always had my back and believed in me, and when you know that people believe in you, it really helps you to believe in yourself. I believe in myself in spades, so you can imagine how much my family believes in me.

I thank my friends for being incredibly fun, loving, and awesome. I’ve heard of people losing friends upon receiving a cancer diagnosis, and I’ve not only maintained my friendships, I’ve actually gained some. That is the ultimate testament to how wonderful, loyal, and good-hearted my buddies are. My crew has my back to such an extent that I always feel like I have a small army behind me. They have enriched my life in so many ways and they continue to do so.

I thank my doctors for working so hard for me. My surgeons (Ramos, Sugarbaker, Genyk), my radiation oncologist (Song), my hematologist (Liebman), and my best buddy and brilliant oncologist, Dr. Lenz. These people have made it their business to help me survive, and I am endlessly thankful for their brilliant minds and incredible talents. Knowing that my medical team is as strong as can be makes me even more psyched to take down this beast.

So, now, it’s time for me to hop in the shower, get my game face on, and beat cancer with chemo for the 50th time. My golden anniversary, and I’m feeling extra special golden today. Thank you all for your support and love. You all make me stronger, which is pretty damn strong.

Chemo Round 49 and Duke

WunderGlo — Thu, 02 May 2013 00:42:19 +0000

Chemo Round 49 and the trip to my beloved alma mater that followed capped off a pretty crazy (but very fun) two weeks for me: from Atlanta to Coachella to chemo to Durham.

First, chemo. Round 49. It is not lost on me that many do not make it to 49 rounds of chemo, and this realization will continue to be at the front of my mind as I march off to Round 50, 51, and so on. I woke up feeling excited for treatment, as usual, but also grateful. This cancer-killing adventure hasn’t been easy and it hasn’t been quick – but I’m still in it and that’s probably an understatement. If this was a boxing match between me and cancer (and it is), we’d be deep into the fight and I’d still be looking pretty good: no broken nose but maybe a little something shoved up a nostril to control bleeding….face not too bruised but maybe a cut on the cheek. Meanwhile, cancer is looking pretty haggard and bloody – footwork not nearly what it was, bag of tricks almost totally empty, and coming to the realization that this opponent won’t be giving up any time soon. To steal from baseball for a second: this one is going into extra innings.

Infusion at Norris went well. As always, I am incredibly well taken care of by Dr. Lenz, Taline, and all of the nurses and volunteers in the clinic and at the Day Hospital. I got a bed, cuddled up, and grazed on the various vegan foods provided by Norris and my mom (it’s a bounty, trust me). All the while, my body was dutifully guzzling up some more chemo and making sure that cancer continues to wonder “why the hell did I pick this kid?”

The week that followed wasn’t the easiest of chemo weeks, only because my activity was way up from what it would normally be. Instead of staying in bed on Tuesday, I went to my friend Alla’s memorial service, which was a mandatory thing for me regardless of how I felt. After crying my little eyes out and missing my friend, I was pretty drained. And instead of resting in bed all day on Wednesday, I got up and headed to Norris to get some pre-flight fluids, just to make sure I’d be bounced back as quickly as possible. The next morning, I was up at 6:30am and flying across the country because The WunderGlo Foundation would be hosting a basketball tournament on Duke’s campus on Saturday. All in all, I felt pretty good, although a little headachy and not that interested in eating that much food…but those things are to be expected if you’re pushing yourself during a chemo week.

And I did. I can admit it. But it was worth it the minute the plane touched down in the North Carolina.

Coming back to Duke is such a special feeling. It truly is a homecoming, and one for which I am continuously grateful. I really don’t know many people who love their school as much as Duke folks (I mean, we LOVE our school), and so I know I’ve been a part of an institution and community that really is special. Duke takes up such a huge part of my heart, and coming back fills my heart and recharges me like few other things do.

One of my favorite spots on campus, Armadillo Grill, is closing after graduation, so I made sure I soaked up some of my favorite Tex-Mex cuisine. A little sign hanging from the menu board that said “We happily accommodate our vegan guests” made the trips even more satisfying. We ate at ‘Dillo (that’s what the Duke kids call it, including me) every single day, and I couldn’t have been more pleased.

I also couldn’t have been more pleased at the fact that my good friend (and WunderGlo Foundation board member), Dan, made the trip out to Duke to join in the fundraising and the festivities. I loved showing him around campus, and he fit in like a glove. We even bought matching Duke sweats and sweatshirts. Bringing people into the Duke family…that’s what I like to do.

I also like to play basketball, which is what I and about 70 others did on Saturday at our “Go To Hell, Cancer!!” 3-on-3 basketball tournament. We raised several thousand dollars and had an amazing time in Duke’s holy land and where so many basketball moments of glory were made: Cameron Indoor Stadium. Hooping in Cameron was truly an unforgettable experience, and hosting such a fun event with awesome people made it all the sweeter. It was an incredible trip, and I have a feeling I’ll be back on campus very soon.

We left Durham on Monday night, and here I am: back in L.A., recharged and refocused, and ready to accomplish big things in May.

Saying Goodbye

WunderGlo — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 05:48:02 +0000

There is nothing harder about living in this cancer world than saying goodbye to a friend. Honestly, I could care less about what I personally have to go through – the bi-weekly chemo, the two-a-day Lovenox shots, the scans, the supplements and vitamins and lack of cheeseburgers and cocktails. None of that stuff upsets me. What upsets me is losing a friend to cancer who fought so hard to live.

I found out last Friday, when I was at the Coachella Music Festival with my cousin, that my good friend Alla had passed away. Her very close friend emailed me the news and, even though I knew the news was probably coming soon, I was not ready for it. You can never be ready for losing a loved one. I got the email as I was walking across the fairgrounds and immediately stopped and sat down in the grass, my head in my hands. It took me a long while to get up.

I met Alla a few days after she was diagnosed, in September of 2011. I urged her to come to Norris for treatment. She did. I urged her to become a vegan. She did. I told her that we were young enough and strong enough to endure and to survive until the cure for all of us was available. I believed that with all of my heart. I believed that we both would live to see that day. I was wrong. The sting of that cruel reality hurts me deeply and probably always will.

Alla was a brilliant lawyer – a public defender in Compton, California – and an incredible person. A devoted wife, mother, daughter, and friend. My friend, too.

Her memorial service was almost too much for me to take. Even though it was Chemo Day 2, I knew I was going to get myself together and make it for her service, but I was not prepared for the overwhelming grief I felt while I was there. To see her family and friends so heartbroken, and to be heartbroken myself, was so hard. It was so, so hard.

It brought back memories of losing Annette a few months ago. My two best buds at Norris, Annette and Alla, were gone. Both of them, incredible women and true forces of nature that I was lucky and blessed enough to know, were no longer alive.

It’s hard not to feel robbed. Their families and friends have been robbed of their beautiful presences. The world has been robbed of their talents. I have been robbed of their friendship. It feels unfair…so cruel and so unfair. I sobbed at Alla’s service and I sobbed on the drive home, for the loss of my friend and for that feeling of being wronged by the universe.

But here’s the thing, and here’s what I always remind myself. I can’t get caught up in what is fair and what isn’t in life. There is no fair or unfair. Life is what it is, and I have to continue to live it with a full heart and with gratitude. So after dusting myself off, wiping away the tears, and with a still-tender heart, I gave thanks for Alla. I gave thanks for the fact that I knew her and that she was such an awesome person. I gave thanks again for Annette and how much she means to me. I gave thanks for being in a position to know both of those women, to have helped them and to have been helped by them…to have been good friends and fellow soldiers with them.

I share a bond with them that most people could never know. And I am thankful for that. It’s a bond that nobody would elect to share, but it’s ours. And it’s powerful.

Because, you see, we are cancer patients. We are looking death in the face, every single day. We are fighting for our lives, every single day. We are bonded together by our shared struggles, triumphs, hopes, dreams, spoken and unspoken fears. We are bonded together by our common enemy and our shared zest for life even in the face of that enemy. And while my two friends are no longer fighting and are at peace, I will still fight. I will still hold the banner of cancer warrior in their honor. I will receive that chemo and give myself those Lovenox shots and lay down still when its time to scan my body. And I will continue to be grateful and joyful in the face of challenges and sorrow and struggle. For them, for me, and for all of those who fight this terrible disease.

Rest in Peace, Alla. Your legacy will never die. You are in my heart always.

An Amazing Time in Atlanta

WunderGlo — Sat, 20 Apr 2013 22:03:44 +0000

Earlier this week, I headed to Atlanta for the first time in my life. The reason? I was asked to be the keynote speaker at an event at Holy Innocents’ Episcopal School. Specifically, I would be speaking at the School’s Program for Global Citizenship’s Annual Lecture. My buddy from Duke, Quinton, is the Director of the Program and thought it’d be good to have me talk to the kids and share my story and the mission of The Wunder Project. Pretty awesome, right?

First, a little about the Program for Global Citizenship. The Program provides an incredible opportunity for high schoolers at Holy Innocents’ to travel within the U.S. and abroad and think of ways that they can make a leadership impact on the communities they encountered. Once they come up with their start-up or non-profit plan, the school gives them small grants to help make their dreams a reality. It was incredible for me to chat with the students (I did that during their lunch, before my talk) and see how creative, driven, and community-oriented they were. Kids these days. They totally blew me away, and they had the most insightful questions about The Wunder Project, my adventure with cancer, and colon cancer in general. Big shout out to Holy Innocents’ for being an awesome school with phenomenal students.

It was 7pm almost before I knew it, and time for me to address the crowd, which consisted of students in the program, their parents, some of my fellow Blue Devils in the area who came out to support me (shout out to Adj and Sara and Andy!), and other folks associated with Holy Innocents’. I spoke about my path to leadership, my fist-fight with cancer, and The Wunder Project. We showed The Wunder Project film and, during Q&A, even showed our Harlem Shake video. I had a great time addressing the crowd and an even better time answering everyone’s questions afterwards. A huge thanks to Quinton and Holy Innocents’ for having me.

After the talk, I spoke with parents and students and was so honored by their kind words and support. The entire experience brought home the fact that I really do need to get in front of people and discuss The Wunder Project to truly make the impact I’d like to make. So, in the next couple of months, we’ll be hitting the road and meeting with major corporations to talk about partnerships. I know that we can get the major, big-money support we need to continue to infuse our movement with new energy and new dollars. There is no quit in me until we reach our goal, and it’s exciting to see things coming together so well.

So I flew back from Atlanta early on Thursday morning and by Thursday night, I was off to Palm Springs for the Coachella Music Festival (where I am today). Expect an update soon because this experience is, as it was last year, truly special. My life is so busy, but I am loving it...and living it with all of my heart.

Chemo Round 48

WunderGlo — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 04:40:13 +0000

Before I go on, I realize that I’ve been a slacker with updating the blog, and I apologize for that. For those of you who have followed the blog for a long time, you know that my delay in posting isn’t because of bad news or anything awry but because of good stuff and general busyness. That applies now as it always has. You know your girl Wundy always has a lot cookin'!

I got some pretty solid news about my blood work before chemo round 48. Things are looking good, my disease is stable, and we are on our way to unlocking the mysteries to my particular strain of “the cancer” as I like to call it. I am beyond lucky to have such innovative minds working on my case, chief among them being the great Dr. Lenz. I couldn’t be in better hands, and knowing that gives me such confidence and peace that I never worry about my disease. Never. I’m not saying I don’t pay attention to my body and take care of it as best I can, but I’m not nervous or anxious about the disease in my body. We’ve got its number and it’s a matter of time before it’s totally stomped out. And I will be doing the stomping.

Chemo Round 48 went very smoothly. The time I spent infusing was easy and fun. Over the last two and a half years, I’ve developed some great relationships with the nurses and volunteers at Norris, so coming in for chemo is like spending time with friends. It’s a pretty wonderful feeling, rolling in for treatment and seeing over half a dozen people with whom you share a real bond of friendship. That’s exactly what I experience every other Monday, so I’m a very, very lucky girl.

After chemo, we stopped at my new favorite spot – a place that makes vegan NY-style pizza. Are you kidding me? Delicious. I knew that my appetite would be spotty for the next few days, so I got myself a large pizza with pineapple topping (my favorite) and knew that I’d sustain myself with that deliciousness. Along with that, I noshed on coconut popsicles, fruit, herbal iced tea, and some more coconut popsicles. I kept myself well-hydrated and got enough sleep. Consequently, side effects were super minimal – just a little headache on Tuesday and Wednesday. By Thursday, I was up and about and functioning well – taking care of Wunder Project business, running errands, singing and dancing like a crazy woman in the car (seriously, what do the other motorists think about me?), and pumped that I had gotten through another round of chemo.

One aspect about this cancer-killing adventure I’m on is that it’s a long road. It’s been a long road so far and I am fully prepared for it to continue to be that way. I don’t get anxious about treatment and I don’t ever think “ugh, when will I be done?” I’ll be done when I’ve fully vanquished this beast, and that’s going to take a lot of time and effort. And I’m totally cool with that.

Before my diagnosis, I was likely one of the most impatient people you’d ever meet – when I wanted something, I wanted it immediately and I got pretty irritated if I didn’t achieve whatever I wanted to achieve right away. Cancer has taught me to take one bite at a time, to pace myself, to understand that victory will come but it won’t come immediately or even pretty soon. I’ve learned a brand of patience that had been utterly foreign to me before. Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m still goal-oriented, quick to make decisions (like, lightning quick), and decisive in my actions. But as far as my health is concerned, I know that I am a work in progress, and that it will take a while to fully recover from a disease that was so extensive and hell-bent on killing me two and a half years ago.

Slow and steady wins the race, and, make no mistake: I am winning the race.

The Tattoo That Binds

WunderGlo — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 16:20:14 +0000

When my dear friend, Annette, passed away in late December of last year, I was crushed. She was an incredible human being and the toughest cancer warrior I knew. Our friendship was truly special – we were more than just two people going through a similar situation together with similar attitudes. We were real friends. And within our friendship grew a sanctuary for each other. I felt safe when I was talking to or spending time with Annette, and I think I did the same for her. We were two soldiers in the trenches with each other, surrounded by loving family and friends but especially bonded by our battles with cancer. In my mind, there is no one who understood the whole cancer experience more than she did. There is no one who connected with me more on the “we’re fighting cancer and doing our best to survive” level than she did.

Losing her was a great, great loss for me. It was as if I was alone, in the wild, foraging for myself in a world that was unknown to me. Never mind that I was over two years into treatment, extremely close with my medical team, and bonded as ever with my family and friends and colleagues. The truth is, when I found out that Annette had passed away, I felt as lonely as I ever have. It was one of the darkest moments in my life.

Grieving for Annette has been a long process. There was no punctuated breakdown or day where I couldn’t get out of bed. Instead, it was as if there was a little sad cloud over me at all times, no matter how great my day was. I couldn’t shake the persistent sadness over my friend, and I didn’t want to shake it, either. Holding on to that feeling of loss was still holding on to my friend, so I didn’t mind that even the most fun days were curbed by a tinge of sadness. That was ok for me, and I lived like that for months. Maybe I’m still living like that.

Ever since her death, I wrote Annette’s initials on the inside of my left wrist. It was instinctual, really. I hadn’t planned on doing it or keeping it up, but every day when I woke up, I scrawled “a.c.” on my wrist and went about my day. When something went well, I’d smile at it. When I grinding through a chemo week, I’d look at it and feel stronger. When I was playing basketball and made a shot, I’d kiss it. This was a physical representation of my friend, and it gave me some peace. And it made me feel close to Annette.

Yesterday, I made it permanent. I went to my favorite vegan tattoo artist, James Spooner (wonderful guy), and inked her initials on my wrist forever. I chose to do it in lower case, since that was how Annette wrote all of her personal emails. I also chose the font that she’d always use, Courier New.

I had some of my crew with me for the tattoo, including my parents and my buddies Stoney and Jordan. My mom asked James if the wrist was a particularly sensitive spot and if the tattoo was going to hurt. James responded: “Yeah, it’s probably going to suck.” I just smiled. First off, there’s no way it could be tougher than getting “Wunder” tattooed on my ribs, and I had already been there and done that. Secondly, I welcomed the moment when I was binding my body with the memory of Annette. I didn’t care how badly it hurt. I didn’t care if it bled. This tattoo was for my girl, and I embraced whatever came with getting it.

The moment the needle hit my arm, I felt the rush of pain, but it wasn’t too bad. My crew was impressed that, throughout the whole tattoo process (which only took a few minutes), I never flinched or grimaced. Instead of letting the pain affect me, I thought of Annette. I thought of the good times we shared, our phone conversations, our bonding time at Norris, and when my Foundation gave her an award last June. I thought of the stories she told me about traveling with her family and thought about how much she loved her family and friends. I thought of how hard she fought the disease, and all she went through to survive. I thought of that last time we spent together at Norris, and how we held hands tightly and spoke about hope and peace. I thought about the exquisite beauty that was Annette, and that IS Annette. And I felt happy. Very happy.

Then, the tattoo was done.

I think it’s beautiful. Actually, I think that tattoo is perfect. The initials “a.c.” are a part of my physical body forever, and just the way Annette wrote them.

I was honored to be her friend, and now I’m honored to have her initials on my wrist as a physical reminder to keep fighting, to take care of myself, and to embrace life with open arms and a heart filled with love – just how Annette did.

Chemo Round 47, That Lymph Node, and New York City

WunderGlo — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 17:48:10 +0000

Actually, the title of this blog post is in reverse order. I’ll start with New York.

I flew back home to L.A. the day after my appearance on the Today Show, and I had a whole two days at home before I packed my stuff up again and headed back to The Big Apple. Since last week was an off-chemo week, making the trip was a breeze and I had a blast. I did a media event (and spoke alongside Deepak Chopra which was an incredible experience), ate some delicious vegan food, and even scored a new pair of kicks while I was in the city (for you sneakerheads out there, I strongly recommend Flight Club in NYC). The weather started out a bit unfriendly – I grimaced through a sleet storm the first night I was there – but ended beautifully. As usual, New York City was magical and lovely.

I hightailed it back home by Wednesday night because I had a CT scan on Thursday morning. This would be an all-important scan because it would reveal whether the radiation I did in January on that rogue lymph node in my chest actually worked. A pretty big deal, but I remained calm. I understand how other cancer warriors get “scanxiety,” that super anxious feeling when you’re about to get a scan or waiting on results. But here’s the thing about “scanxiety”: it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make the scan results better or worse. All it really achieves is freaking people out. So I refuse to countenance scanxiety. The moment my mind wanders to “wow – I wonder what the scan says,” I remind myself that I’m in control. If I went by what scans said, I’d be six feet under by now. So forget the scans. I listen to what Dr. Lenz tells me, I do everything I can to make myself as formidable a foe against cancer as possible, and I keep on rolling with my life and The Wunder Project.

I had a particularly powerful moment during the scan itself, as I was in the tube. I was chillin’ in there, wearing my Duke hat (of course) and waiting to take that mandated deep breath that I’d need to hold. A thought popped into my head, and it was a really reassuring one. The thought was simple and powerful.

“This scan does not determine your future. YOU DO.”

I don’t know where the thought came from, but I have to tip my hat to my Creator for even putting such a sentiment in my head. It felt great to listen to that thought and to believe it. And I do believe it.

The results were ready on Friday, but Dr. Lenz was in NYC (we just missed each other!) so we didn’t discuss it until Saturday, when I headed to USC Norris for the annual colon cancer patient reception (which went really well -- I spoke as did most of our Wunder Project team) followed by a chill session with Heinz in his office.

The results? Are you ready?

The lymph node shrunk. We blasted that fool. Radiation worked. And the disease in my belly remains stable. So all in all, a pretty great scan. It won’t change my course of treatment, so I’m still hanging with my bag o’ chemo every other week, but still. This was a success. That lymph node could have eroded a major vein in my chest and, if that would have happened, I could have bled to death. We needed this radiation to work to take me out of danger. And it did. The side effects of a scratchy throat and losing about 5 pounds (hey, not a bad side effect) were all worth it. And now I can help people who have questions about radiation since I went through ten rounds of it. A win/win for everyone!

Finally, Round 47 of chemo. It went great. No cameras followed us around this time, no meetings during infusion, so I got to really relax this time around. I spent the next two days in bed, watching TV and movies and eating and drinking. And now, Thursday morning, I’m back. Feeling very good and, as always, feeling very grateful.

And if this wasn’t enough news for you, I’ve got one more thing to share. That news crew that followed me around a couple of weeks ago was from CNN. CNN as in CNN! I’ve been excited for weeks over this awesomeness. The segment on me and The Wunder Project will air THIS WEEKEND on Sanjay Gupta’s show, “The Human Factor.” It'll come on at 4:30pm EST on Saturday and at 7:30pm EST on Sunday. CNN was also awesome enough to give us some web coverage, which will start in early April (I’ll let you know when). Check out the show this weekend and let me know what you think! The Wunder Project is definitely making moves.

Finally, I’m getting another tattoo today. But I’ll save that for another post.

Chemo Round 46 and The Today Show

WunderGlo — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 23:44:49 +0000

You know, my treatment routine is getting more unconventional by the day. Last round, I did the Harlem Shake before infusing for Round 45. This time, a camera crew was with me (don't worry, when I can tell you where the camera crew is from and when our television segment is going to air, I’ll tell you).

The Wunder Project has been getting a lot of attention from the press, which is exactly what we wanted, especially during this early period of the Project. Getting as many people to know who we are will only expand our circle of supporters, so I couldn’t be happier with the way things are going. Having said that, though, I knew that this round of chemo would be a doozy and probably something that not many cancer warriors would welcome with open arms. But when you’re WunderGlo, normal bounds of reasonableness – even when it applies to chemo -- just don’t really apply anymore. So here’s my recap of Chemo Round 46:

I got to chemo a little early on Monday to fill a prescription and have a little pre-filming time to myself, and got there just in time to do both. Soon enough, the TV crew and my PR team were with me, and the cameras were rolling. Because I’ve done so much filming with Jordan, the creator of The Wunder Project film and The WunderGlo Foundation video, I was cool as a cucumber. Honestly, having a camera capture my every move just doesn’t bother me at all. This TV crew filmed me and my friends playing basketball last Friday, and literally shooting a free throw with a camera about a foot away from my face didn’t even phase me. So I guess you can call me a little bit of a pro at this point. ☺

Chemo itself went great – had a good meeting with Dr. Lenz, infusion time flew by, and I was attached to my bag o’ chemo and on my way before I knew it. I got home and got in bed, trying to preserve as much energy as possible. Because tomorrow, I’d be on my way to New York City.

I flew to New York on Tuesday while infusing, forcing myself to eat and drink as much as possible (the after effects of radiation only began about a week after treatment ended and continues to persist – my little throat hurts!), and trying to sleep as much as possible. My mom traveled with me and took impeccable care of me, but I knew that no matter how great the care was, I was challenging my body in a serious way. We landed, I slept, and the next morning, I felt the same way I always feel on a chemo Wednesday: not awesome.

So how does a chemo Wednesday feel? It’s hard to describe to people who don’t have cancer, but just think of it like a hangover. You feel a little queasy, not really interested in eating, and headachy. The gross headache feeling is the worst of all three, so I usually try to sleep it off on Wednesday. I couldn’t, though, because I had a conference call with a major drug maker (I’m going back to New York next week for their event), and then I had to take a car to my hotel (we stayed in New Jersey at my mother-in-law’s house for the first night). And in the morning, I’d have to get up early and be at my very best, because your buddy WunderGlo was going to be on the Today Show with Kathie Lee and Hoda.

Luckily, as the hours passed on Wednesday night, the gross headachy fog began to lift a bit. I started making up songs in the hotel room (a surefire sign that I’m getting my crazy/normal ways back), and after my mom hoofed it to bring me back some delicious (vegan) Italian food, I was feeling the old me creeping back in. But still, was this enough to knock it out of the park the next morning? I told myself that it would be and reminded myself about who I was dealing with. Come on. I can do this. Please. Ah yes, that old WunderGlo confidence. Much needed.

The next morning, I got up bright and early, hopped in the shower, and was chugging almost at full strength. By the time I got to the Today Show, I was feeling the flow. I jumped into hair and makeup and, minutes later, was camera ready. And almost an instant after that, I was ushered into the area where the filming would take place. Lots of cameras and lights, and Kathie Lee and Hoda doing their thing with another segment. I’d be going on with a doctor at NYU (Dr. Pochapin – very cool dude) and another cancer warrior (Teri Griege – ridiculously awesome lady), and the three of us chit chatted quietly before we were given our spots on the couch and the countdown began.

This was it. My first live television segment, and on national television, and on the most popular morning show in America.

I wasn’t nervous. You know, when people cut you open and remove organs and other folks pump you full of chemotherapy drugs, very few things actually make you nervous. So yeah, I wasn’t nervous. And it went really well. Kathie Lee and Hoda are total studs – warm and professional and fun all at the same time – and Dr. Pochapin and Teri did an awesome job. And, by all accounts, I did an awesome job, too. It was invigorating. And you can check it out here.

After that, I took off to a major magazine for a little chit chat about The Wunder Project. No rest for the weary, team!

And after that, I had a full day in New York City, hanging out with my mom and my best friend from law school (Rhett) and my sister-in-law (Marie) and her boyfriend (A.J.). We wrapped up the day at around midnight, and I crashed in Marie’s bed, giving thanks for her super comfy sheets and the deliciousness of some well-deserved rest.

Yesterday, I took it very easy, flew home, and crashed again. And today, I’m up to my old tricks. I’m feeling great (just finished up at the gym), and extremely excited about where The Wunder Project is headed. And this is only the beginning.

Oh yeah, and I go back to New York City on Monday for some more media stuff. Life is moving fast, but I’m loving every minute of it.

I’m pretty sure cancer wished it had never messed with me. And now it’s really quakin’ in its boots. That’s right, cancer. Bad choice, fool. I’m coming after you and I’m not going to stop coming after you until you are history…for all of us.