"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!
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.

https://www.facebook.com/aftonwallacemymissionisremission/posts/455560551289394?fref=nf&pnref=story

Carry on,
Kristin

"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.
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.
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, please ... will you do your job and keep cancer from returning to my body? A big thanks in advance.

Carry on,
Kristin

"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.
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.

https://www.pinterest.com/kristindauthor/cancer-is-not-my-sign/

Happy pinning,
Kristin

"Scanxiety ... you sa-huuuck!"

This is so real. 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.
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.
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.
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.

Carry on,
Kristin

"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.
Having said that, I give you, "Cancerland ... Welcome."
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.


Carry on,
Kristin

"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.
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.

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.

Carry on,
Kristin

"$$$. Cancer treatment equals unspeakable amounts of $."

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.

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.

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. 

Carry on,

Kristin