tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2956175810290850132024-03-13T04:56:35.307-07:00Cancerland ... Welcome. ....... Kristin's Journey Through Cancer Treatment and SurvivalKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-16617666865211551222015-11-26T20:23:00.000-08:002015-11-26T20:23:02.955-08:00The Holidays ... and Hope.This is my third holiday season with cancer. The first one almost doesn't count. I was diagnosed the day before Thanksgiving with late-stage cancer. Needless to say, that Thanksgiving was a somber one, at best. But we pulled together as a family and enjoyed the Christmas to follow, even though I had a brand-new port and was dealing with my new life as a cancer patient and #3 of #12 chemotherapy treatments.<br />
The second holiday season was much better. I had finished a grueling 12 Folfox6 regimen, had a cancer-free PET scan, and had started maintenance chemo. I was feeling okay. The Xeloda was hard on me, but for the most part, my day to day life was good.<br />
Now, in 2015, my cancer has come back. My right lung has spots. My left lung has spots. My CEA is very high. My liver is sickly. Mid-year, I tried a new treatment called Folfiri that I did not respond well to. Things have been looking bleak. My attitude has been so negative and I have felt very little hope. Doc W basically seemed to be out of options. (At least that is how I've seen things). So, at the prompting of my husband, I went on the search for a second opinion, and some hope.<br />
At the beginning of autumn, I ended up at Huntsman Cancer Institute (HCI) where I was introduced to Dr. Shamir Sharma and his team. My life hasn't been the same since.<br />
After reviewing my case, Dr. Sharma signed me up for an aggressive but amazing clinical trial just this last October. Basically, it's Folfox coupled with immunotherapy. Along with over a hundred other stage 4 colon cancer patients, I've signed up to participate and finalize Phase III of this trial. From what I've learned, read, heard about what I'm doing, it's a really REALLY good treatment. Cancer doesn't stand a chance against this chemo. I feel blessed to be a part of it. Blessed, lucky, nervous, excited ... but mostly blessed.<br />
I also feel blessed being a patient of Huntsman Cancer Institute (HCI), and I feel blessed to be a patient of Dr. Sharma. He has great bedside manner. I really like his approach--he's optimistic, almost arrogant, but very genuine and so full of palpable hope. I believe what he says to me. I feel I'm in very good hands with him and his entire staff. Soon, I will talk about his team. Each of them are awesome!<br />
I had my first of 12 treatments last week and I have to brag for a second--I kicked some serious chemo butt. I slept all day Wednesday, came home with a little "5FU death ball" that I had to carry around for 46 hours, slept for a couple of days until the ball was removed by my hub, then had what felt like 300 liters of fluids pushed through my port to flush my body of chemo. When the nurse removed my port needle on Monday, I was doing pretty okay. I'm serious. Not great, not bad, pretty okay. I'm not seeing any Folfox side effects yet. They will come but maybe my awesomeness and the fluids my husband runs after chemo will keep them at bay for longer than imagined. Neuropathy-free fingers crossed, yes?<br />
Most importantly for me right now is that I have hope. I haven't had hope for a very long time. Weeks. No months. It's hard to live without hope, especially if you're sick. I can honestly say that I like having hope. I'm a hopeful person in general so it was almost like a part of my personality had been stolen or broken before meeting Dr. Sharma and having my hope wells filled.<br />
It hasn't been easy getting hope back in my heart. It wasn't a quick thing either. There was no switch, "Oh hey. I'm going to be just fine." It's taken me so much time to recognize that my attitude was in the pits and that it needed to change so my treatments can be the most effective they can be. I've been clingy with my family at times. My poor husband, daughter, son, and sister can attest to this. I've been weepy. I've been quiet and reflective, but slowly and surely, I found the hope for myself that I once had but had lost.<br />
I can and will beat cancer. I can and will take care of my children, my body, and my husband. I can and will live a happy, long life. This is the hope I have for myself. As I enter the third holiday season of my life with cancer (3 of many) I pray that others suffering from hopelessness can find a little hope to hold on to through the holidays. And for my family and friends that inspire me and encourage me with love and hope, THANK YOU! It means the world to me.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
Kristin<br />
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<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-32708625699921677762015-06-03T19:20:00.000-07:002015-07-13T19:21:22.900-07:00"My heart is broken."I am so sad that Afton Wallace has passed away. She was a vibrant, beautiful girl from back east, someone that I've never met but has touched my life in ways no one else ever has. Afton inspired me. She motivated me. She made me smile on days when I didn't think I could smile. She made me get out of bed on days when I didn't think I could move. I love this girl, like she was a part of my close family. I am just heartbroken that she lost her fight with stupid cancer! I'm mad, too. She was too young to die!<br />
I am thankful for Afton's life. I am beyond thankful to her family and my friend Becky for sharing Afton's story. I'm happy that she is no longer fighting but is pain-free and probably swimming or singing or dancing around in Heaven. Afton, thank you for being a big part of my life. I won't live a day without thinking fondly of you.<br />
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https://www.facebook.com/aftonwallacemymissionisremission/posts/455560551289394?fref=nf&pnref=story<br />
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Carry on,<br />
KristinKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-27007583492878561852015-03-31T18:59:00.000-07:002015-07-13T19:04:02.583-07:00"Maintenance chemo, please do your job."My update: I'm currently on maintenance chemo. While I'd love to say it's been a walk in the park, I can't. I've been sick, burned, tired, and achy on this chemo, much like regular Folfox but not as bad. I don't know what is worse, though. Being really sick, sick enough to take pills and sleep for hours upon hours, or to feel just crummy enough to want to sleep and take pills, but coherent enough to know what around me needs my attention.<br />
I still have a family, a household, two great kids, a wonderful husband, parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, extended family, friends by the dozen, and a career I need to take care of. But on this maintenance chemo, I'm sitting on the fence between feeling really horrible verses feeling just ok enough to try to live my life.<br />
I'm now officially back to the old, "Quantity vs. Quality" mindset. Alas, that is a topic for another day. Until then, maintenance chemo, since I'm coherent enough to ask, <i>please ... will you do your job and keep cancer from returning to my body? A big thanks in advance.</i><br />
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Carry on,<br />
KristinKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-85673875060471476982015-03-04T18:50:00.000-08:002015-07-13T19:03:42.396-07:00"Pinterest, one of my healthy diversions."I love to browse Pinterest. It has been a very good, relaxing diversion from my cancer. I used to watch TV to escape. But there are a lot of cancer commercials on TV now. I used to like going for rides. But so many billboards are covered with cancer messages. I can't seem to escape seeing or reading or hearing about the big C, where ever I go.<br />
Pinterest is a little bit different. I get to select what I look at, what I chose to waste my time on. And even though most of the time I don't browse Pinterest for anything "cancer" related, sometimes I find a cute, inspiring picture or quote. Enjoy.<br />
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https://www.pinterest.com/kristindauthor/cancer-is-not-my-sign/<br />
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Happy pinning,<br />
KristinKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-18536922471331221142015-01-22T15:18:00.002-08:002015-01-22T15:32:17.943-08:00"Scanxiety ... you sa-huuuck!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is <b><a href="http://www.mskcc.org/blog/coping-scanxiety-during-and-after-treatment" target="_blank">so real</a></b>. I can't stand it. I can't get my brain to think about anything aside from the scan that I'm scheduled to have tomorrow.<br />
I was supposed to have my scan last Friday. Instead, I was admitted to the hospital the afternoon before. I'm thinking that I worked myself up in to such a tizzy that my only coping mechanism was to physically sicken myself. I feel pretty weak admitting that, but it's the truth. I've got a four day hospital bill to prove it.<br />
There's a lot riding on my scan tomorrow ... my future treatment plan, my future traveling plans, my future physical well-being and emotional well-being. My future. Maybe because I'm much more coherent this time around, the results feel so finite. It's either going to be a good, clean scan and I'll be jumping for joy, or it will be dirty and I'll be forced to stay in Cancerland for another 6 months, maybe longer.<br />
Either way, tomorrow can't come and go quickly enough. Most terminally ill people don't think that way but I'd dare say us cancer warriors all feel that at some point before a scan.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
Kristin<br />
<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-52685069947448057172015-01-08T15:30:00.000-08:002015-01-22T15:34:40.576-08:00"300 Days, huh?"The 300 days I initially thought I'd be actively using this cancer blog have come and have long since gone. 300 days, my foot! Let's shake things up a bit and maybe I'll post more often if I don't completely resent the title of my blog and the fact that we've blown by 400 days of this crap like it was scripted.<br />
Having said that, I give you, "Cancerland ... Welcome."<br />
You don't have to be a cancer patient/victim to enter, nor a certain height to ride the rides with me. If you are like me and my sarcastic mockery of cancer suits you, please make note that Cancerland land is much like the Hotel California. You can check out (mentally) anytime you'd like but you can never leave.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xIN-3_IMZ3M/VMGH4RkrYaI/AAAAAAAAAY8/YAtsOyU1NZU/s1600/002a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xIN-3_IMZ3M/VMGH4RkrYaI/AAAAAAAAAY8/YAtsOyU1NZU/s1600/002a.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
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Carry on,<br />
KristinKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-88718567096455076222014-11-04T09:25:00.002-08:002015-01-22T15:32:55.334-08:00"I'm a cancer patient today."I just returned home from a wonderful, much-needed vacation with my family. It was a great time. My body was cooperative, and thanks to a six week chemocation compliments of Doc W, even my feet were willing to play nice.<br />
I walked for 6 days, I'm talking serious, real walking from one side of a massive theme park to the other. Acres of ground was covered. I must admit ... theme parks are so much more fun with a little Tramadol on board. I spent time with my kids and hub and wasn't a "cancer patient" in SoCal. There I was just mom, wife, lover, friend, tourist, person, me.<br />
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Today, I'm back at the clinic to start up my maintenance chemo. I'm so sick and tired of being a cancer patient. My one-year cancer-versary is fast approaching. And aside from three short but wonderful chemocations, the last year of my life has been the hardest I have ever endured. And sadly, there's no end in sight.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
KristinKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-92023365927672051462014-09-30T17:11:00.002-07:002014-09-30T17:11:59.519-07:00"$$$. Cancer treatment equals unspeakable amounts of $."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MhhRAX_c5q8/VCtCp2Jm00I/AAAAAAAAAYA/h7YcbtgQfMU/s1600/ihc-medical-cost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MhhRAX_c5q8/VCtCp2Jm00I/AAAAAAAAAYA/h7YcbtgQfMU/s1600/ihc-medical-cost.jpg" height="400" width="316" /></a></div>
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I saw this while browsing Facebook the other day. The numbers listed are staggering. And while I can tell you that these numbers are shockingly accurate, I hate to talk about how financially draining my cancer treatment has become. It's upsetting to even think about.<div>
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Instead, I watch my husband work himself to the bone to keep our insurance in good standing and to keep our bank account in the black. I stress until I'm sick over situations that I have no control over. I worry about the long-term affects my treatment will have on my family financially, even after I'm gone. I worry about my children and how my treatment will take away from their futures financially, i.e. college, marriage, etc.</div>
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I thank my husband every day for working the way he does. He has basically saved my life by providing me with medical insurance and money for co-pays and that Godforsaken 20% out of pocket. He works so hard, words can't express the gratitude I feel for him and what he has done for me. </div>
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Carry on,</div>
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Kristin</div>
Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-59823591878935050552014-09-07T14:50:00.002-07:002014-09-07T14:50:58.977-07:00"Stupid Cancer."I'm a young cancer patient. They consider anyone under 40 to be a "young" cancer person, and since I look 30 and occasionally act 20, (I was diagnosed at 41), I allow myself to fall in to this category.<br />
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More importantly, I.Love.This.<a href="http://stupidcancer.org/about/" target="_blank">Website</a>. </div>
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Stupid cancer indeed.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
Kristin</div>
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<span id="goog_1305716011"></span><span id="goog_1305716012"></span><br /></div>
Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-88223837752609014582014-08-11T14:35:00.000-07:002014-09-07T14:36:49.653-07:00"This Girl Inspires Me!"She's funny and smart and beautiful and so strong. I've never met her. I probably won't ever meet her. But I feel like I know her and I'm forever blessed by her example of strength and positive-thinking.<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/aftonwallacemymissionisremission?fref=nf" target="_blank">Afton</a>.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
KristinKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-24397170645114132782014-07-31T14:28:00.000-07:002014-09-07T14:29:48.165-07:00"Maintenance Chemo, Here I Come."PET Scans are fun. Not. What is a PET Scan you ask? It's this-> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Positron_emission_tomography" target="_blank">Definition</a>. And this-> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contrast_medium" target="_blank">Gross</a>. And this-> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep" target="_blank">Ahhh</a>.<br />
It is also lots of these -> Results, which can be a good thing and a bad thing, too.<br />
After 7 months of absolutely brutal chemotherapy treatment, I had a follow-up PET Scan. Knowing what to expect the second time around made the actual scan much more endurable. Waiting for the results ... that was the worst part for me.<br />
So, we (my mom, hub, and myself) show up at Doc W's office to discuss the results, and surprisingly, the results were mostly good. All four spots of my cancer, including those scary mets on my liver, were "resolved" (fancy medical term for "all better"). They found some suspicious activity on my abdominal wall that Doc W took before the tumor board. The activity was determined to be my ovary just doing it's job.<br />
So ........ with "No Evidence of Disease", Doc W decided that he wanted me to begin "<a href="http://www.cancer.net/navigating-cancer-care/how-cancer-treated/chemotherapy/maintenance-chemotherapy" target="_blank">maintenance</a>" or "safety" chemo.<br />
His theory went a little something like this.<br />
<i>"Five years ago, ten years, we'd treat you for the active cancer inside your body, then depending on whether or not your body responded to the chemo, which your's did, we'd sit back and wait for the cancer to return. Now, we can be a step ahead of the cancer. We can be in control of whether or not the cancer returns." ~Doc W</i><br />
His theory makes complete sense to me. And my closest friends and confidants know that I look at chemotherapy treatment as a sick-form of a security blanket. As long as I've got chemo in body, the cancer can't come back, right?<br />
Enter my "maintenance chemo" regimen:<br />
~ An infusion of <a href="http://www.avastin.com/patient?cid=ava_we_F001059_P000517&c=MBAVUA2500&gclid=Cj0KEQjwhLCgBRCf0fPH043IlJwBEiQAf8P8U70-i3et9kJPg0elnXw1c9TnyPbOWbZSW1RKwAIla_QaAsx38P8HAQ" target="_blank">Avastin</a>, so I can bleed relentless and have a little pain.<br />
~ 28,000 mgs of <a href="http://www.chemocare.com/chemotherapy/drug-info/Xeloda.aspx#.VAzNR_ldVIE" target="_blank">Xeloda</a>, aka 5FU pills. I don't take 28,000 mgs at once. I take 1,000 mgs in the morning and evening over a 14 day period. This way, my feet and fingertips can burn and blister for days on end. I can stumble around in a fatigue-laced stupor, and spew toxic sludge from both ends.<br />
~ A seven day break, most spent dreading my next dose of poison.<br />
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I'm laughing as I type this. My sarcasm is at an all time high right now. You've heard me talk about 5FU and how bad it made me feel, how it was the most brutal of my chemotherapy drugs, how I loathed the pump that weighed me down for 276 hours of my life, and caused me to walk like I was a hundred years old. This drug that is so hard on me ... is the main drug of my maintenance chemo. Oh, my luck.<br />
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And yet, I know I'm strong enough to handle it. I'll laugh my way through maintenance chemo knowing that I endured 6 months of regular chemo that was 10 times harder than this is now. And even though I know I'm strong physically, I secretly worry if I'm emotionally strong enough to withstand this part of my journey.<br />
Yes, it's slightly reassuring to still be in treatment, but that does mean I'm not a survivor yet? When do I get to say, "I beat cancer!"?<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Cancer.net says, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #414141; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, 'Nimbus Sans L', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20.802600860595703px;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #414141; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, 'Nimbus Sans L', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20.802600860595703px;">The growing use of maintenance therapy may raise new questions about when people begin to consider themselves cancer survivors. For some people, receiving maintenance therapy after the first treatment may provide a sense of reassurance. However, other people may struggle to see themselves as survivors if they are still receiving cancer treatment. No matter how a person views the stages of cancer treatment, starting maintenance therapy is an important part of many people's treatment and recovery plan.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #414141; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, 'Nimbus Sans L', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20.802600860595703px;">"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Honestly, I don't know if I'd rather still be in treatment, or if I'd rather be done and just waiting to see if cancer returns to my body. Either way, I'm still stuck in Chemotopia, limping around with a blue barf-bag in hand, and a tissue shoved up my nose while I try to enjoy my life from one day to the next.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">Carry on,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Kristin </span><br />
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<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-57619158549421801782014-07-15T12:14:00.001-07:002014-07-15T12:20:58.497-07:00"I'm In a Cancer State-of-Mind."<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just read this <a href="http://www.ihadcancer.com/h3-blog/07-12-2014/Are-We-Ever-Really-Cancer-Free" target="_blank">amazing article</a> written by <a href="http://www.ihadcancer.com/lutintoutnu" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #339900; line-height: 18.81599998474121px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" title="View user profile.">lutintoutnu</a><span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">It's poses the question: "Are we ever really cancer-FREE?"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">If I had to answer that question right now, my answer would be no ... even though the cancer that was inside me seems to have been eaten up by the 6 months of chemo I just finished. I didn't have much active cancer inside me to begin to with, but ... but my latest pet scan results came back basically N.E.D. (No Evidence of Disease).</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #555555;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">I should be doing cartwheels or cheering or something elated with that kind of news, but I'm not. I can't. Here's my theory why: CANCER isn't just a disease, it's a state-of-mind. This mental place is totally possible and quite frankly, reasonable considering what I've been through. If someone can be in a "New York state-of-mind", a "Cancer state-of-mind" HAS to apply, right? Que video below now.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">Yes, my physical body seems to have responded to my therapy but my mind just sees statistics. It still hears things like, "You have blankety-blank months," and "Stage 4," and "Chemo for life." </span><br />
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">I want my mind to match my body. What my conscious is saying right now: "Please respond to the therapies I'm offering you, oh warped brain in my skull. Can't you see the the cancer's gone?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">What my mind hears: "Late-stage cancer is terminal. Late-stage cancer has an 80-90% chance of recurrence."</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">I don't think a day will go by--for the rest of my life--that I'll be able to just kick back and say, "Oh hey, all is well because I'm cancer-free." Even during this blissful chemocation I'm enjoying, the worry is still there. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">Lutintoutnu says, "It might not be all sunshine, rainbows or fluffy kittens but it is where I am at. Yes I am grateful for my life and my health but I want to be OK with this second stage of feeling scared, worried, and anxious. I can't quite explain why these thoughts are poisoning my mind ..." </span><br />
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">Cancer is a state-of-mind. That's why thoughts like these ones are constantly swimming around in my head. The worry is my mental poison. I hope this goes away or at least decreases over time. But I'm not counting on it. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">Of course, it doesn't help that I'm nervous for tomorrow. I meet with Doc W to discuss phase 2 of my long-term care plan. Wish me luck!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">Carry on,</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #555555;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;">Kristin</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #555555; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.81599998474121px;"><br /></span></span>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-30852595104461154682014-06-24T09:23:00.001-07:002014-06-24T09:23:15.478-07:00"Skee-rew you. And other stuff."Spoiler alert: This blog post is going to be ultra-feisty and borderline offensive. Skip if you're not in the mood. <div>
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So, this morning I received a pm from a stranger on one of the colon cancer forum groups I belong to. The jest of his message went a little something like this:</div>
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"While I can appreciate that you're a strong, young survivor, your situation could have been avoided. Had you insisted on having a colonoscopy, your doctor might have been able to find the cancer when it was just stage 1 or 2 or maybe even pre-cancer. You really did yourself a disservice by letting it get to stage 4 at 40 years old."</div>
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ARE.YOU.SERIOUS?</div>
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My reply:</div>
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"Skee-rew you, P****61. You don't know jack about my situation or you would never have sent me such a ridiculous, insensitive message. Or maybe you would have because you feel it necessary to offer advice to people that you can hardly relate to. Having a friend of a friend with colon cancer does not make you an expert. What are you even doing on this forum? Don't you have better things to do? </div>
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Your message, in general, is accurate but NOT FOR ME. I could have had a dozen colonoscopies during the 10 years before I was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer and still ended up here. The results wouldn't have shown a thing, not a single polyp. So take your condescending advice and stick it!"</div>
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His response:</div>
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"My apologies."</div>
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Grrrr. I can't stand people that talk to me about stuff they really don't know much about. I shouldn't let it bother me, but it does. That's like me telling my mechanic how to fix a car. Redonk! I hope my snappy retort keeps him from sending a similar message to others. I really do.</div>
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I'll talk about my pet scan results and future plan of action after I calm down. </div>
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Carry on,</div>
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Kristin</div>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-19451897185433235332014-06-12T17:17:00.003-07:002014-06-12T17:18:17.454-07:00"Linkage ... Musings of a Med Student.""<a href="http://nikhilthegrizzlybear.blogspot.com.au/2014/05/im-not-brave-or-strong-because-i-beat.html" target="_blank">More than anything ... I feel tired.</a>"<br />
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I really love this blog post. It's kind of fiesty, like me. But it's honest, and it's how I've felt a lot throughout my cancer journey. Thank you, Nikhil.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
KristinKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-88682238653652613332014-06-11T22:06:00.001-07:002014-06-11T22:06:38.303-07:00"I'm done. I'm finally done. And things are different now."So ... a few weeks ago, I finished treatment. The last/12th treatment made me so very sick, but I was so happy to know that I'm done with chemotherapy for a while. I was mostly relieved to give my sweet mother a break, to give my hub and chillens a break, and to give my shrinking body a chance to heal a little.<br />
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It's taken me weeks to feel good. My emotions are still pretty roller-coasterish. I feel like I've gained some friendships, and sadly ... I think I've lost a few, too. I mostly feel like I've lost a serious amount of time that I can never get back, days and days of fatigued-laced time that I can't remember.<br />
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But ... I'm focused on eating well and I'm planning to start "training" next week for a big vacation planned for October with my parents, in-laws, littles, and hub. I'm going to start walking daily, well ... let's say I'll be limping. My left foot is still a mess. But I need to start training to get my body back to a more healthy weight.<br />
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There's a cancer movie and a cancer TV show right now that are all the rage. I've decided not to watch either of them. Instead, I'm focused on my scheduled pet scan and my upcoming appointment with my oncologist to see where I'm at ... and what we're going to do next.<br />
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The video below is of me ringing the "I'm done with treatment!" bell. My dad Alan is the videographer ... I hug him last, but it doesn't show it. Enjoy.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
Kristin<br />
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<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-77991150245574871052014-05-16T17:11:00.000-07:002014-05-16T17:11:40.265-07:00"Ten and eleven down, ONE TO GO!"So ... I've been especially sick following the last two treatments. Why? I have absolutely no idea. The pain in my abdomen comes in waves so bad that it takes my breath away. I literally can't stand up straight when I have the pain. It sent me to the hospital last Friday night. I thought I was dying ... and at one point there, I wanted to die.<br />
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Please help me welcome morphine. Oh, how I love you. You make the pain stop, stop enough so I can relax my muscles and elongate my torso. If I had to choose a drug to become addicted to, it would be you, my sweet sweet opiate. </div>
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But ... I'm not planning to become addicted to anything after next week, my last treatment, aside from good, clean food and exercise. I've only got a few months to prepare for a pretty big family trip and I will not let my health keep me from going with my family. I hope to recover from chemo quickly because I really feel like I've lost 6 months of my life. In so many ways, I have. Let's hope my first post-chemotherapy scan comes back clean so I can say ... IT WAS ALL SO WORTH IT. I can't wait to ring that "I'm done" bell.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me just starting treatment #10.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My awesome son driving me to the clinic to get my bloody port flushed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In good spirits before #11. (Low 130's for weight here. I have no muscles.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My chemo friend Stan ringing the bell.</td></tr>
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Carry on,</div>
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Kristin</div>
Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-57374721789329255362014-04-28T14:32:00.002-07:002014-04-28T14:32:54.050-07:00"Neulasta, how I love/loathe you."Wow, my last entry was a little dark. Let's change gears and poke fun at Neulasta, shall we?<br />
"<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">Pegfilgrastim (Neulasta) treatment can be used to stimulate bone marrow to produce more neutrophils to fight infection in patients undergoing chemotherapy." ~Wikipedia</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Neulasta is a shot that my chemo nurse gives to me <i>in my stomach</i> the Saturday after each treatment. It doesn't hurt, the actual shot part. It's the afterwards that is super unfun. Basically, Neulasta forces my bone marrow to make white blood cells so that my immune system can fight infection. I've decided, after 9 of these injections, that my bone marrow doesn't like being told what to do.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">Possible side effects ... there are two listed. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">One is bone or muscle pain. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">The other is injection site reaction. I've never had the latter side effect. But the first, oh geez. My back, like my spine bones, just aches. My hips and shoulder bones ache, too. My eyeball bone holes (occipital bones) hurt so badly when I yawn. Yes, my bones ache. And the best part of these bi-weekly shots? The $9200 bill that </span></span><span style="color: #252525;"><span style="line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">accompanies</span></span><span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.399999618530273px;"> them.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">But ... really, I'm grateful to be able to receive Neulasta. If I wasn't able to have them, I'd probably be infection-ridden and not at the very end of my treatments. So I will gladly lift my blouse two more times so I can finish my chemo like a champ.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">Carry on,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">~Kristin</span></span><br />
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<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-53341198593234366692014-04-20T22:25:00.002-07:002014-04-28T14:33:09.784-07:00"Nine down, three to go."My treatments are getting harder. My prayers are getting longer. My "good" time has transitioned from days to hours. My legs are covered in bruises. My skin in gray. My hair is gone. My weight is nearing "wedding day" numbers. My smile is underused, my laugh nearly non-existent. My spirit is being tested like never before.<br />
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Dear God,<br />
Make me a bird ... so I can fly far. Far far away from here.<br />
~K<br />
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<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-82106097006331789242014-04-04T20:40:00.002-07:002014-04-04T20:40:32.497-07:00"My mom, my angel."My mom is my angel on earth. It's so hard to verbally express the appreciation I have for the sacrifices she has made for me. She has changed her normal life-style to take me to my cancer treatments and she hasn't ever once complained. And when I complain, she's quick to point out how good I'm doing, how far I've come, and the progress I've made. I hope to be half the mother she is. I seriously couldn't do any of this without her. She's an angel and one of my best friends. I love her! (And my poppa, too!)<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always with me, by my side.</td></tr>
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~K</div>
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This song is about my mom ... </div>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-71512399170283534022014-04-04T20:33:00.001-07:002014-04-28T14:33:50.652-07:00"Eight down, four to go. I hope I make it!"My last treatment was a dooooozy! I'm serious, a real gut-wrencher. Merle was brutal this last treatment, burning all my fingers and both my feet, making my nose bleed relentlessly ... he's mad at me for something, I don't know. And then Saturday, I tried to shake things up by not getting Aloxi and fluids but instead ingesting a bunch of under-cooked Chinese take-out. For.the.love. I've never thrown up as much or as violently as I did the days following this last treatment.<br />
All that puking landed my sorry self in the hospital again. Joy rapture. I was able to talk my super nice nurse into letting me actually sleep, so that was nice. AND I only had to stay one day. Another nice point to make, yes?<br />
The fluids I received in the hospital helped the innard-purging to stop, but I was still so sick for days after.<br />
In fact, today is the first day I feel even semi-well. I went out with the hub. We went for a drive and bought my daughter a car. It was a nice day, aside from looking like Gollum and getting winded like I was 90 years old walking from the car to sidewalk.<br />
Last Tuesday was my worst day to date. I actually prayed for death. I've done this before ... one time, and I don't think that time I really meant it. Tuesday was a different story. I've been so emotionally worn out, physically worn out, sick of being sick, etc. Laying there, needing a shower, needing to feel okay to get up, needing to be able to open my eyes, I had had enough. I prayed to my Heavenly Father to make it all stop, to give me peace ... and he did.<br />
My phone rang and I actually heard it. It was K, my go-to nurse at my oncologist's office. I cried instantly when I heard her voice and she talked me through what I needed to do to get some relief. Believe me, whatever this woman tells me to do, I do it. She hasn't once told me to do something that hasn't worked. So, Wednesday I followed her instructions to a tee, and sure enough, I started to feel better. Thursday night was even better, and today even better than that.<br />
K has become a third mom to me. I struggle to call my mom on days when I'm super sick, or my mother-in-law, for that matter. My mom is with me during every single treatment and it's wearing on her. She's with me when I'm in the ER and admitted to the hospital. All of my medical adventures are so taxing on her, I just can't bear to call her during our "good days" in between treatments.<br />
And my mother-in-law has just finished treatment for breast cancer, just finished as in her hair is still growing in. I don't want to burden her because I worry that it might bring back memories of her struggles during treatment and she has a scan scheduled this week.<br />
So, K was my saving grace on this particular day. I'm so so grateful that she called. She is knowledgeable and compassionate and what she says is the truth. Right before we hung up, she said, "You're so close. You can do it."<br />
I hope I can, K. I really hope I make it!<br />
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Carry on,<br />
~K<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My current hair style. ;)</td></tr>
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<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-32386842466625829172014-03-25T11:37:00.002-07:002014-03-25T11:37:35.066-07:00"Linkages commencing .... now."<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kevin-lankes/i-wrote-my-will-at-26_b_4978787.html" target="_blank">I wrote my will at 26.</a> by Kevin Lankes<br />
His <a href="http://zenofmetastasis.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">blog</a> is amazing. And I can relate to this particular post.<br />
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PS: I'm going to start linking to other blogs a lot. I'm finding some really good stuff to read online, now that I know where to look.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
~KKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-31584258557910782122014-03-22T22:05:00.002-07:002014-03-22T22:05:22.712-07:00"Seven down, five to go in Chemotopia."I'm officially going downhill on my 12-treatment chemo adventure. It feels nice. My last treatment was okay, okay in that I tolerated everything pretty well. My hands are stable, my left foot looks better with each passing day, I'm controlling the pain most of the time, and my spirits are good. All little victories that will hopefully make the next five treatments just as tolerable as the last one was.<br />
As much as I gripe about treatment, I'm still very grateful to be able to get treatment in the first place. I've been asked a handful of times, "Why did you chose to do chemo?"<br />
Seriously? The answer is kind of simple. Chemo chose me. I've got late-stage cancer in my gut ... I didn't have a choice in the matter, really. I'm not against alternate medicine, I just don't think it's the smartest, safest, most reasonable route for me at this stage of my disease. And believe it or not, there are some benefits to being stuck in "Chemotopia".<br />
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~ Food awareness. I haven't eaten as much junk food as I did before my diagnosis. This is a good thing. And although I'm still losing weight, I'm much more conscientious about what I put in my stomach now.<br />
~ Relationship awareness. I'm much more aware of the people in my life and how I treat them. I cherish time spent laughing with my dear friends and family, visits from my sister-in-law every Tuesday, phone calls from my mother-in-law, messages from my siblings, and holding hands with my mom. I cherish every second I get to spend with my kids and husband. They have all been so good to me. I'm so lucky to have the support system that I have. And in the same breath, I've been much more honest about relationships that aren't good for me. And although it's hard sometimes, I stick up for myself like I never have before.<br />
~ Health awareness. I'm much more in-tune with my overall physical health because, duh. I have cancer. But now I'm more aware of how much sleep I get, how much walking I do, how many vitamins I take, etc. My body is going through the ringer every two weeks. Chemo is very hard on it. I'm very aware of how I'm feeling and I've learned valuable tricks to help me deal with my treatments as best as I can.<br />
~ Time awareness. Before cancer, time was a commodity I never stopped to think about. Now, time is a very large part of most every decision I make. Do I have time for this? Do I want to spent X-amount of time on that? In the long run, will I look back and consider that time well spent? These are questions that I ask myself now that I didn't ask myself before.<br />
~ Attitude awareness. Negativity affects me so much more now. I can't stand it. I hear complaints about trivial things and I want to grab the person complaining and smack them around a little bit. I'm much more aware of my attitude now. I'm not half as quick to complain about superficialities as I was before.<br />
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There are other benefits to chemo, like the fact that it is killing the cancer that is trying to kill me. So today, tomorrow, every day for the rest of my life, I will be grateful to be in Chemotopia and for the awareness it has brought to me.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
~K<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2ShcavL31QU/Uy5rdBstepI/AAAAAAAAARg/OlZRzAVPA-g/s1600/IMG_20140312_095643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2ShcavL31QU/Uy5rdBstepI/AAAAAAAAARg/OlZRzAVPA-g/s1600/IMG_20140312_095643.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my way ... half way done!</td></tr>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-3398958237738947982014-03-08T09:33:00.002-08:002014-03-08T09:37:09.571-08:00"CANCERsumption."It's been a little while since my lost post. I went back to treatment last week. I went in with such a strong, good attitude following my heavenly chemocation that I was sure my chemo-cocktail would be more tolerable. I was kind of wrong. The hand-foot syndrome (the side effect that interrupted my treatment schedule), came on quick and fierce during treatment. I received 2 liters of fluids on Wednesday. When it was time to have Merle (5-FU pump) removed on Friday, I could hardly walk. I had another 2 liters of fluid. Saturday I limped into the clinic for my Neulasta injection, and even with another liter of fluids, I was in bad shape. I was floating, but really really sick. I ended up in the ER hours later with what I was certain was a bowel obstruction.<br />
What a frustrating time for me. I was so sick, puking and in such pain, but I was being treated by people that knew very little about my situation. A radiation oncologist that consulted with the ER doc was certain that I had an acute infection. Forget about the 5 pounds of stool plugging up my gut ... the docs at the hospital were way more concerned with my white blood count. And even after myself, my mom, and my husband all told them that it was going to be really high due to the Neulasta injection I had had a few hours before, they still admitted me.<br />
At first I was like, "Yeah, a restful, quiet night alone in the hospital." What a joke. The nurses, CNAs, and housekeeping staff were in and out of my room throughout the night. And I was across the hall from the service elevator. And I was on a floor with a couple of combative patients. And My IV kept kinking and setting off alarms. And ...<br />
I could keep going but I just summarize by saying that two nights in the hospital and over 14 rounds of IV antibiotics later, I was finally released to go home. And the "#2" issue? Was never even addressed. Thank God it resolved on it's own, yes?<br />
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I came home feeling good, although laying in that hospital bed for 48 hours did a real number on my psyche. I imagined things about my cancer, dark things, good things, finite things that shot my already intense case of "cancersumption" to a whole new level. You see, I went from living a normal life ... to Cancerland. The day before Thanksgiving, I'm diagnosed with late stage cancer and then catapulted into Cancerland just one week later with a port and my first round of chemo. It was quick. It felt violent. And ever since, most of my waking moments, I'm consumed with my cancer.<br />
I worry about it. I worry that I'll never worry about it. I stress over my future and all the things I need to get done. Cancersumption doesn't just take up most of my mental energy. It creates this ongoing feeling of urgency that has been hard for me to deal with. I feel like I need to get as much done as I can, as quickly as I can. My bucket list was overwhelming before my diagnosis. Now ... it's a monster with a time limit. Not much can tame this particular beast. But little victories sure do help.<br />
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I'm feeling really really good. Little victory. Even though not a single blood culture taken during my hospital stay came back positive for infection, I'm thinking that the gallons of antibiotics I was given actually cleared up my hands and feet. Another little victory. I had a shamrock shake last night. A creamy little victory right there. I've started a NEW bucket list, a more manageable, reasonable one. BIG little victory. My CEA marker is at 3.06. Little victory? I vote yes!<br />
And they all add up. I've decided that during my inevitable state of cancersumption, I'm going to try to focus on the little victories in my life more that what I need to get done.<br />
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After all, just waking up in the morning, having my husband, mom, kids, family, and dear friends in my life, listening to good music, watching my favorite shows, and indulging in a sweet treat now and then ... those are all little victories that make Cancerland/real life a happier place.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
~K<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ls5tZ_jMKYw/UxtUa7peK0I/AAAAAAAAARM/ac3saAWWbVg/s1600/IMG_20140302_195006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ls5tZ_jMKYw/UxtUa7peK0I/AAAAAAAAARM/ac3saAWWbVg/s1600/IMG_20140302_195006.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only pic I took of my hospital stay. I think I ate this???</td></tr>
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<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-23876639814745801122014-02-21T08:34:00.000-08:002014-02-21T08:34:06.426-08:00"Blankets and love."I have been given many amazing "gifts" since telling my friends and family about having cancer, most of them in the form of sweet treats, care packages, loving notes, and good food. But much as I love the sugar, I love the three blankets I've been given even more.<br />
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The first one was given to me by my sister J. She made it for me to use during chemo, and I've done just that. Affectionately called my "chemo" blanket, I cuddle up with this blanket every two weeks while my body is pumped full of poison. And when I'm completely done with chemotherapy, which might be in May or it might be never, I'm thinking of donating this blanket to my chemo clinic for other cancer patients to use.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AI5tz-Hjeug/Uwd30pqGSzI/AAAAAAAAAQY/VzLfEPKrPXE/s1600/IMG_20140118_085648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AI5tz-Hjeug/Uwd30pqGSzI/AAAAAAAAAQY/VzLfEPKrPXE/s1600/IMG_20140118_085648.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "chemo" blanket in action.</td></tr>
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The second blanket that I've been given was handmade for me by my best friend M's mom. This lady is one of the sweetest women I know. She is so giving and shows love and concern through service. The blanket she made me is bright and soft. And heavy. I love it! I use it to cuddle on my bed or in my recliner in the evening before bed. She used <a href="http://www.thefind.com/apparel/info-faux-mink-fabric" target="_blank">this</a>, which is ahhh-mazing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DGM27691Eow/Uwd7PFvNz4I/AAAAAAAAAQk/Sf-fGYqtNM8/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DGM27691Eow/Uwd7PFvNz4I/AAAAAAAAAQk/Sf-fGYqtNM8/s1600/001.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soft, warm, cuddly. And adorable!</td></tr>
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The third blanket I've been given was handmade for me by my friends/co-workers at the IHC clinic I worked at for 7 years. I adore this group of people so much. I have life-long friendships that started in this place ... with really amazing, smart, admirable people. The clinic manager and my friend L brought over the quilt along with a box of frozen food for my family. It was one of the kindest gestures I've received to date.<br />
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By the way, I love this quilt. It hangs on my banister and I use it to cuddle on the couch. It is all soft, warm and heavy. I'm thinking that the mink fabric used on this quilt (and the one above) gives it the weight, and I love it!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vB_TiTYO3_0/Uwd9xuRhLOI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/shE7MuM4UmY/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vB_TiTYO3_0/Uwd9xuRhLOI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/shE7MuM4UmY/s1600/003.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't it beautiful?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UYlegMydD40/Uwd9x7zcQbI/AAAAAAAAAQw/H_csv8TIeTE/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UYlegMydD40/Uwd9x7zcQbI/AAAAAAAAAQw/H_csv8TIeTE/s1600/006.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The embroidered message ...<br /><br /></td></tr>
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So as you can see, I've been very VERY blessed in the blanket department. Each one not only warms my body, but warms my heart. Yes, I know that sounds rediculously cheezy, but I don't really care. I feel the love from many important, caring people every time I wrap up in one of my blankets.</div>
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Carry on,</div>
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~K</div>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295617581029085013.post-87817272833492179542014-02-19T09:37:00.002-08:002014-02-19T09:38:47.714-08:00"CHEMOCATION! Yes please."I'm on a two week chemocation and loving it! My hands and feet are clearing up nicely, all my abdominal pain is gone, the nausea has subsided, and I'm sleeping like a princess. Less hair is falling out, too. Added bonus, yes?<br />
But more important than the physical victories are the emotional ones that this break has created, for me and for my caregivers. My parents went on a short trip. Normally, they'd be wintering down in AZ right now. But because of my diagnosis in November, they opted to stay in snowy, happy valley to care for me. So the fact that they were able to leave town for a few days makes me so happy.<br />
And then there's my hub and chillens. Oh what fun we've had the past few days together. This time, being happy and feeling good, is a glimpse of what I'm going to feel like after I'm done with chemotherapy. This glimpse has rejuvenated my spirit immensely. I think of it whenever I think of my next treatment. You see, fear consumes me when I think of treatment. I know how sick I'm going to get, how my body is going to ache and burn from within from the chemo, how I'm going to sleep away days of my life ... all while my husband and kids look on. This glimpse is the light at the end of the "cancersumption" tunnel I live in right now. This chemocation is truly a Godsend. Truly.<br />
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Carry on,<br />
~KKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07539068090740448918noreply@blogger.com0