Wedding Crash

As dark as the majority of my posts have been lately, this won’t be one of them.  I think we only have a handful of truly perfect days allotted to us in our lifetime and I got to have three of them this past weekend.  I spent the weekend living.  Even the parts of my weekend that didn’t go as planned were important to me because I spent them with the people I care about, doing things I love.

As a bit of backstory, I finally reclaimed my dog from Jac and Richard because (believe it or not) they didn’t want to take a dog that wasn’t theirs to the beach.  Shocking, I know.  So Buca came home and he likes our apartment and my roommate, but he was only there for one night before I had to take him to the doggie hotel for the weekend, as Noelle was working two 12-hour nursing shifts.  I was having total Mom-guilt when I dropped him off and he looked so betrayed with those eyes and his tail tucked under.   He’d been abandoned by Jaclyn and his favorite person Richard, and now I was leaving him with strangers. 

Friday’s road trip was fairly uneventful until Mom needed me to look up directions to our hotel.  We were about 15 minutes away from Raleigh, where Mom assured me everything was, so imagine my surprise when I found out our hotel and the wedding was in Chapel Hill, which we’d passed about 20 minutes ago.  Le sigh.  We finally get to where we need to be, and I had time to get my first post-cancer haircut!!!!!!  It was such a little thing, but it made me feel so feminine.  The chemo and radiation have caused a bad superhero reaction in my body and now I’m growing sideburns and neck hair like I’m Teen Wolf or something. 

Well-groomed, I went to the post-rehearsal dinner where I got to be surrounded by family.  I adore all of my family but the immediate highlight was getting to meet Kaylie and Mike’s new baby, Carolina.  Babies are precious.  Especially when they’re sleeping…  The party was fantastic and the after-party was even better.  I met some of the Polonsky cousins, including Courtney and we bonded over being cancer survivors and generally awesome people.  There were also a disproportionate amount of attractive fellows there, so that didn’t suck.

Kim and Joey’s wedding was incredible.  All of the superficial details like the weather and the decorations were awesome, but to see two people who have been together for so long and who are just so obviously right for each other commit their lives and love to each other… To be a part of that was an honor.  Working in family law (and not even as someone who directly deals with clients) can be so draining and disheartening.  Watching two people who you know are supposed to be together just reaffirms that some things in the world turn out right. 

And not to make the day about me, but watching them reminded me of one of the many things I have to live for.  There have been so many times this year where I feel like I’m just coping and existing, trying to work up the courage to take my life back.   Seeing Kim and Joey and being at event where people were celebrating life, not just living it, made realize how important it is that I continue to find my direction and be a part of life rather than live on the fringes of it.

The reception was amazing and crazy.  Most people who know me and know my aversion to dancing (except for show tunes in the privacy of my own home) would not have recognized me on Saturday.  The party was one of those kick-off-your-shoes kind of things and I did.  After about an hour, I realized my whole dancing philosophy was simply doing The Twist at different tempos, while occasionally throwing in a Jersey Shore fist pump for variety.  CuteBoy, who’d I’d been making eyes at all weekend, did dance with me at one point, which was more than nice, but I was so flustered, it was like the first time Patrick Swayze danced with Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing.  I just looked awkward.  I don’t remember being this bad at flirting, so I’m going to blame it on the chemo.

And to bring the weekend full circle, my roommate picked up my dog for me on Sunday, so I got to come home to 100 pounds of wiggly, tail-wagging and sloppy kisses.  Best greeting ever.

I couldn’t live at that level of frenzy and excitement every day, but remembering what it’s like to feel truly well is something I can do.  Laughing, staying up too late, dancing, talking too much, eating too much, being silly with little kids (and catching their colds), road-tripping…  I didn’t know how much I needed all this.

Good News for a Change

If you want to change your outer life, you must change your inner life first. –GabrielleBernstein

It doesn’t feel real, so I’m a little afraid to say it out loud in the Internet sense.  But the word is in from my oncologist: yes, there are still scans to do, potential radiation side effects, and the real possibility of relapse.  But right now? 

I’m in remission.

Holy crap.

Just like when I was diagnosed, the idea of remission doesn’t feel real.  It hasn’t hit me yet and so I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or do my Snoopy-like happy dance or some combination of the above.  And just like when I finished radiation, I get to celebrate this milestone at a family wedding—my cousin Joey and his beloved Kim, this Saturday in Raleigh.  What better way to have good news than to enjoy it with people you love and who love you?

It would be way too easy to sweep this under the rug and worry about the dark side of what this means.  I feel like when I was sick, I didn’t have anywhere farther to fall, so more bad news didn’t really bother me that much.  Now something good has happened, and I’ll have something to lose, a good place to fall down from. 

Just for this weekend, though, I’m going to put worry out of my mind.  I’m going to enjoy my car ride through the mountains, buy some cider or other kitschy tourist items, enjoy a wedding with the Minicks and my mother, and be grateful that I have friends who care when I get good news like this.

The "After" Life

I touched a bit on what life is like since finishing treatment but I spent most of it focusing on how one begins to bounce back from depression.  For the record, I’m still trying to figure that out.  But in effort to not let a reasonably decent pun (as seen in my title) go to waste, I wanted share what the day-to-day living looks like when one has cancer.

I feel like I’ve mentioned the ex who had cancer.  If not, the story pretty much goes: when he was 18, my most recent ex had the same type of cancer I have (though it may not have been the same subset).  Anyway, when I first met him, I just thought he was playing the Byron-esque brooding tragedy as girl-nip.  (Obviously, in my case, it was working.)  But just coming out of my suburban bubble, and into my college bubble, I’d had very little experience with tragedy and life-changing events at that point.  I just figured the love of a good woman and few lite rock love songs could charm him out of his funk; cue the sunset and happily ever after.

But, what he couldn’t really verbalize in a way I got, and what I’m only finally now understanding, is that even if you become a cancer survivor, a part of you still dies anyway.  In a serious, five-stages-of-grief kind of way.  You can (and should) go back to living your normal life, but you will never fit into it exactly the same way again.  Your perspective on everything changes.

One of the biggest things I’m sure I’ve mentioned is my feeling of security.  I no longer get tickles in my throat and back pains from sleeping poorly.  I assume any of these signs are indicators my tumor is metastasizing and I need to get a CT scan immediately.  This fear would cripple me on a daily basis if I allowed it to.  Instead, I use the excellent, time-tested Puritan methods of denial and repression.  For the record, this is not a long-term solution to any problem, but right now I’m in a fake-it-til-I-make-it place with my recovery, and it gets me out the door.

In a more humorous setting, after not drinking for nine months, and drinking very little two months before that, you can imagine my alcohol tolerance is non-existent.  What would have been considered “hydrating” in college turns me into a crazy crying wreck now.  I’m still working on figuring out what my limits are with sometimes humiliating/entertaining results.  Like the story of seeing my ex at the baseball game… Luckily we’ve know each other for nine years, so this isn’t the first time he’s seen me like that, but embarrassing none the less.  Especially with my work friends around.  On the upside, I haven’t been drinking nearly as much as I was pre-diagnosis, which was getting seriously unhealthy, and I have no desire to go back to that person anyway.

Truthfully, I’m not doing anything great with my life post-cancer so far, probably because until December, it’s not really going to feel like I’m post-cancer.  I should probably feel more guilty that I’m not helping children or the homeless or whomever, but I don’t have a handle on my life yet.  I do know that my career calling is going to be in some combination of writing and public service (I hope).  I’m currently job hunting around some non-profits and opportunities that would allow me to use my writing/journalism/PR/education background in some ways.  Life’s just way too short to be just making a living.  I’m trying to be more careful about my health.  I currently meet with a very scary trainer for bootcamp twice a week.  The classes are amazing and I feel awesome, but permanently crippled.

Really, I just care about being someone my friends and family are proud of and not letting my cancer define me.  Easier said than done, obviously, but…  I don’t know.  I don’t have the answers.  Instead, I just throw my thoughts out into the Cloud, hoping to make sense out of them and hoping they resonate with other people. 

I'm Not Dead Yet...

I disappeared for awhile.  I’m entitled.  Excuse the language, Mom and Dad, but depression is a bitch.  I never truly understood what depression was until it attacked me sometime between my third and fourth rounds of chemo.  I walked around Mom’s house crying, daily.  I didn’t believe I’d get well, and more to the point, I wasn’t sure I was worthy of being healed.  Even if I did go into remission, I’d turned into such damaged goods, who’d want to take me on?  What was I doing with my life that made me worthy to be healed?  Thankfully, I wear my heart on my sleeve, and my oncologist could see how unhappy I was. (Crying in the middle of an appointment might have been a tip-off.)  Her compassion and lack of judgment made it easier to explain how badly I needed help.  And I found a cancer survival group geared towards young adults.  I found a shrink.  Chemicals helped alter my personality into depression; I now take an anti-depressant to recalibrate.

I suppose I should feel more ashamed of all these medical issues.  But I have enough narcissism and altruism to think people need to hear what I have to say.  Not necessarily because I’m the one who’s having them, but because I can’t be the only one who’s having them.  I created this blog as a way for people to realize they weren’t alone.  Infertility issues, mental health issues, cancer issues, face-mortality-at-a-young-age issues—I wanted people to know they weren’t alone.  But there are days I worry this kind of honesty is going to come back and bite me.  At the risk of sounding shallow, how am I going to attract a man when I come with what must be the human equivalent of a Carfax report that says “Rachel Boyd is a lemon”?

In spite of all this, I begin to have tenuous steps towards remission.   You guys missed my story of radiation.  Twenty-eightish days of basically being microwaved while being strapped down to a table while wearing a plastic mask that promotes claustrophobia… The stuff fetish magazines are made of.  But I celebrated my last radiation treatment by going to the DC/Virginia area for a much-needed visit to one of my bff’s, Liz, and her newish boyfriend (whom I got to give the Friend Judgment to) and a beloved cousin’s wedding.  In all honesty, my health and energy levels would have been better served by staying home and watching Good Eats and One Tree Hill.  But seeing my friends and my family was my reward and my treat.  Liz and the Minicks had been so supportive from Minute One of my diagnosis that I wanted them to see their prayers didn’t go unanswered.

And now I begin healing.  I’m back at work daily, though often interrupted for doctors’ appointments.  I finally moved in with my long-suffering roommate.  I’m meeting people: nice girls my own age to make friends with, cute boys.  I’m baby-sitting again.  I got to sing “The Wheels on the Bus” with my favorite charge, complete with hand motions.  It was the healthiest I’d felt in months.  The gods’ honest truth is I have a good chance to beat cancer.  But my age and gender and the severity of my particular cancer mean there’s also a very good chance I’ll relapse.  If don’t relapse, side effects from the radiation like breast or lung cancer might get me. 

I might also die of a stroke, hit by a car, or poisoned in a trendy restaurant.  If I don’t enjoy living a bit more, what was the point of getting well in the first place?

Heads Will Roll

So fifth round of chemo is done.  It was not quite successful.  They sent me home without giving me part of my chemo.  As you can imagine (for those of you who've met him), Dad was furious.  Mom was angry b/c she got really silent when the hospital called and told us.  I'm irritated.  I'm working up to angry.  It's just frustrating, and it's not an easy b/c they've already given me the post-treatment shot and to give me the chemo now could reactivate my tumor.  I believe the medical term for this situation is "hot mess."

I saw the doctor today for the usual round of  bloodwork.  Everything is good on that front except for my counts being a little low, which is normal at this stage of chemo.  I'm having really fun joint pains that are normal as well.  At the doctor today, they also told me to spend more time with my friends.  And I agree.  I miss all of my friends, but most of them have legitimate jobs (or semi-legitimate) and they aren't available til evening when I'm tired.  I shall try to make an effort though.  At least there's skeeball starting up again...

No funny stories.  Just the general shocking of old ladies with my shaved head.  Little pleasures, right?

Hats and Head Scarves

Obviously I’ve been MIA from the blogosphere.  This last round of chemo really knocked me down after they upped my dosage, so I’ve been a mental zombie.  However, I’m finally coming out of the fog just in time for my next round of chemo beginning May 2.  Awesome timing. 

Being laid up gives me lots of time to think and my new favorite topic of thought is getting my PhD.  However, the topic of my doctoral thesis is stumping me.  I know I’d like to combine pop culture and education with a twist of women’s studies, but that’s not quite specific enough to make a many-page thesis. 

Mainly I get a big kick out of the idea of handing out business cards that say “Dr. Boyd.”  I feel like the family slacker with only my master’s when I look at people like my dad or cousin Jake with their J.D.s.  It’d be nice to be the first doctor in the family, even if I wouldn’t be the fun kind with the prescription pad.

I also had an adventure at the grocery store the other day.  By “adventure,” I mean “mildly funny story.”  We needed milk and my chemo sweet tooth was demanding some sort of gummy fruit snack, so off to the Whole Foods I go. 

Being in the depths of chemo side effects and feeling just miserable, I gave little thought to my appearance.  (Besides, the hipsters who shop at my particular Whole Foods aren’t really my type.)  So I’m in the candy when a long-haired stranger comes up to me and begins a conversation.

Stranger: Pardon me, and forgive me if I’m completely off base, but are you a member of the LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender) community?
Me: (long pause) No… I just have cancer.
Stranger: (awkward silence) Oh.  What stage are you in?
Me: Stage 2 Lymphoma.
Stranger: Well, I hope your treatment goes well.  (World’s most awkward hug.) Good luck to you.  (Runs off to frozen foods.

I suppose my outfit of straw hat, gray t-shirt, jeans, and a pedicure did suggest a certain amount of sexual ambiguity.

On the upside, I have a title for my memoirs: Fedora Says “Lesbian,” Head Scarf Says “Cancer.”

Motorcycles, Eclairs, and Dating

Cancer is a strange phenomenon. Even if your life is in no danger of ending as is the case with my cancer, you definitely start to get that “near-death” mentality. Suddenly there seems to be a rush on your bucket list. Not only do I not want to make sure I truly change through this experience, I don’t want to miss out on learning and doing things I want.

JOB FRONT

I’m on disability b/c my energy level and immune system is pretty low however, I’ve managed to score a work-from-home job with Kennesaw. I’m going to be organizing their student databases in one of their graduate departments and helping usher them into the social networking age. Things I can from my computer! The coolest part is because of my master’s, I may qualify for faculty status instead of just “staff.” I knew all those student loans were going to mean something someday…

HOBBIES

· My cooking has reached epic proportions. In the effort to find something I enjoy eating, I’m going crazy in the kitchen. I’ve learned to make ice cream and sherbet, how to cook an edible medium rare steak on a George Foreman, made perfect roast potatoes, planned an Easter dinner, and studied the theory (and am ready to try) of making éclairs (surprisingly simple). The tools for éclairs involve cake decoration tips so I’ve bought on a book on that as well. Too bad very little tastes appealing…

· Reality television is also taking over my life. In case you were curious, there’s very little on television that’s any good; however, Mom got me hooked on American Pickers. There’s not possible way I can make this sound interesting: two dudes go on road trips to buy people’s junk for their antique store. It’s fascinating. I’m slowly becoming an expert on Indian Motorcycles and gasoline signs and creating a PhD thesis revolving around the theory that the more impressive the beard, the better the antique find. I’ve also watched enough Project Runway to convince myself I could sew.

· I’m also enjoying having more reading time. I’ve read several novels in the last couple of months, including stuff I never would have picked up on my own. Pop fiction, classics, young adult… I even watched a Hemingway movie (as close I care to be to the drunken genius).

· I’ve also been bitten by the shopping bug. I lost a lot of weight due to chemo so I need new clothes, and I’m going ultra-girly than I ever have because I’m compensating for no hair. I’m also doing interiors. My bedroom is getting a facelift and Mom and I redoing her living room (and making the Swedes at Ikea richer).

SOCIAL LIFE

I haven’t had much of one. I am tired. When I have energy during the day, most of my friends work. At night when they’re free, I’m worn out (and probably watching American Pickers). However, one of my New Year’s Resolutions (before I got sick) was to start dating again. Yes, the middle of cancer treatment is a weird time to start looking for a relationship, but me being me, I can come up with excuses never to be ready to date again, so why not now? Hence, I’ve joined Match.com and told Dad I’m opening to the idea of dating his friends’ sons. All suggestions considered…

(Profound and Catchy Thought)

So, in the latest development of cancer-related body trauma, I've started to lose my eyelashes. It's not the end of the world and I know (all right, at least I hope) that they'll grow back, but... While I don't have to deal with the horror of a mastectomy or anything like that, I do have a slight idea at what breast cancer patients go through when their femininity is damaged by their disease. I've never thought of myself as being excessively vain, but I definitely took pride in my looks and knew people could look at me without turning to stone. Now I'm top-of-the-head-hairless, (almost) eyelashless, and most days I wake up and feel like my body is betraying me simply b/c it won't do what I want it to or it won't perform at the level of energy I want to ask of it. I apologize for the length of that sentence, but I wasn't sure I wanted to end on a preposition. I'm a nerd.

In the end though, it's all relative. Right now, my struggles are matters of physical discomfort. I'm not minimizing my problems at the moment, but my problems aren't (currently) matters of survival. In the past couple of months, three girls I know and was on good terms with through school and former jobs have lost their mothers. My heart breaks for them b/c I'm having a hard enough time dealing with cancer and I have both my parents supporting me beyond anything I could have hoped for (major examples of unconditional love). I couldn't imagine doing this without one of my parents though. And especially at this time in your life in your 20s when you're really on this strange cusp of adulthood... A girl needs her mother.

Don't get me wrong. I'm no martyr and I cried last week in the hospital b/c I was so frustrated at being so sick. I'm not perfect and I get uber-grumbly sometimes, but at least I have my support network who puts up with me...

A New and Improved PET

Wednesday I had my first PET scan since my diagnosis. It was non-eventful; the only humorous happening was my vet tech who looked like the lovechild of Lurch and Elliot Yamin. Well, at least that's something.

And the news that came back was awesome! The tumor has shrunk by a third, from 14 cm to 9 and change cm. It's also much less active which means it's hardly growing any more. Happy dance.

In other news, I'm getting out into the land of the living a bit more. Cason and I went to see "Billy Elliot" over the weekend. The show was amazing, but I got to be more amused by the suburbanites who brought their children. For those of you who've never seen the original movie the musical is based on, it's R-rated with a ton of profanity and sexuality (of the hetero and homo variety). Parents apparently thought that just b/c it was a musical about a kid overcoming his poor background, it was appropriate to bring children of all ages to. Not so much. But I got a good laugh out of it.

In slightly more sad news, my feelings got hurt b/c the whole time we were out, people kept staring at my bald head. I mean, I know I look a bit strange, but didn't parents ever teach their kids it's rude to stare. On the upside, Cason would catch some of them and stare back at them and make them feel uncomfortable.

Jaclyn came down on Sunday and we had girly shopping time which was awesome, which was followed by a whole meal of food and frozen yogurt (bonus points if you get the movie reference). My dog is still doing well in Winder and is still completely obsessed with Jac's husband, who does not return the adoration. Jaclyn thinks the whole thing is hysterical, especially when, on Richard's birthday, she decided to be nice and take the dogs out in the morning, but Buca refused to go with her and ran back into the bedroom to wait on Richard. I don't know what he's going to do when he comes home...

Finally--Some Action!!

I don't feel very funny. I've spent the last few days exhausted and with achy joints; I feel like an old person who should be grumbling about Social Security checks and whippersnappers. My hips and knees have me constantly teary-eyed b/c they hurt so badly, and Mom feels bad b/c there is nothing she can do to help my aches. Hot bathes are a fond and distant memory b/c I'm not supposed to overly soak my biopsy scar and I can't get my PICC line dressing wet. #crabby

Additionally, I'm currently laid up at Mom's with nausea. I tried to go out for a little field trip this afternoon just for change of scenery and had to come home b/c I was about to start hurling all over Whole Foods. It sucks when I do all the things I'm supposed to do medicine-wise and food-wise and still I'm miserable. I know this isn't a permanent condition, but it's frustrating to go through it every cycle.

However, life isn't all gloom and doom. My blood counts are good and my PET scan is next week. Also, Dad and I have been getting to spend a lot of time together, and while it sucks it over doctors' appointments, the time is nice. On a side note, we went to Community Q in Decatur and it was AMAZING. Trust me, when a cancer patient who doesn't think anything tastes good finds great food, it is outstanding.

Anyway, before this lunch, I had my weekly appointment at Emory. Up until now, my hospital experience has been pretty bereft of sexy drama and doctors. I have not looked like a medical show heroine and (while they are brilliant and talented) my doctors are not hot men. Or men of any kind.

Because Emory is a teaching hospital, I constantly have students and residents getting involved with my treatment and the odds that everyone and their brother are going to be reading my test results. And I'm fine with this. My cancer is manifesting itself in an unusual way, and I get the doctors being excited that they finally have an out-of-textbook example of things to show their students. At this particular appointment, my oncologist asks if I mind letting one of her residents listen to my heart to see if he can hear the fluid around it.

Imagine my pleasant surprise when the very cute resident comes into my exam room. He's not my cup of tea as far as personal taste and what I would go for in a date, but I can appreciate a cute, preppy doctor. I still have a pulse after all. Anyway, he does his thing with the stethoscope and does a breast exam to see where the tumor is located.

Le sigh. A cute doctor has his hand down my shirt and all I want to do is giggle b/c the context is so ridiculous with my father in the room (and he is trying to look anywhere but where the doctor and I are) and the doctor being so flustered b/c 1. he's fairly young and 2. he has his hand down a girl's shirt when her father is sitting behind him. Definitely one of those "Sooooooooo.... how 'bout them Braves?" moments.

Stir Crazy

I get to go home tomorrow! Last bag of chemo starts this afternoon... This really has been an exceptionally boring stay in the hospital this time, which I suppose is a good thing, but this morning it's been a carousel of doctors and nurses and techs who want to come in and chat.

Luckily the chemo isn't making me as tired this time, so I'm doing a ton of laps around the floor, but all the tally marks I make on the whiteboard make me feel like Robinson Crusoe on the island just marking the days...

I have to get some better clothes to wear at the hospital. Hospital gowns just have a way of making one feel even sicker. I mean, I have cancer. It doesn't mean I completely need to give up on the rest of my looks...

Romantic Comedy of Errors

Well, I'm back at Emory. Round 2 of chemo. As many of of you know, my hair has been falling out like crazy. It's really depressing and makes a huge mess as you imagine. So first order of business upon checking into the hospital, before even starting chemo, was to shave my head. And (tell the truth, shame the devil) bald actually looks pretty good on me. I have a nicely shaped head, so I think that helps. The picture was taken on Dad's Blackberry, so it doesn't look perfect, and makes my head look disproportionate, but it's a good general idea of the new look I'm currently rocking.

On Saturday, I got to go to Park Bench Tavern in Buckhead for the first time in weeks. Definitely missed the place and the people. It was so nice to see my friends in a non-helping-me-move capacity or with me in a hospital gown. I got dolled up, Liz was in town, and I knew the crush would be there. A bit of background about the crush: it's a low-grade crush, but I've put a couple of months of solid work into it, and there's flirting and friendliness and all the fun things a crush should have. All systems point to a fabulous evening, right?

Meh. I get a wonderfully warm reception from Crush and the other fabulous bartenders of Park Bench. Hugs and "We miss you"s are always an ego boost. I got to see some of the Skeenation family as well, whom I've missed. We had an awesome time, and there may have been some flirting moments, but I'm such a disaster at flirting under the best of circumstances (see title) that I could have completely misinterpreted the whole evening. I may need to go to WTF is Up with My Love Life? for confirmation or denial...

But I've come to realize it's almost impossible to flirt anyway when you have cancer. All of these anecdotes and romantic dramas where girls meet these wonderful guys and start relationships have to be completely fictional. Guys suddenly go completely bonehead when confronted with girls who have cancer.

It doesn't matter that you've been flirting with this girl for a couple of months-- find out she has cancer and she goes on this untouchable pedestal, like it would be wrong to think about her in a dating/relationship/sexual capacity.

For those of you who don't understand, let's put it this way: It's like when we girls put guys in the friend zone. There's no hope for them to ever move beyond it. It's the same thing here.

Le sigh.

The Makeover Episode

Well, it's done.

I keep hearing Tyra Banks's voice repeating "Rose-MARY's BA-by haircut" over and over again. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you've obviously never caved to wasting a Saturday on an ANTM marathon.

My hair is gone. Yesterday, it started falling out by the handful, which was obviously alarming and really upsetting. I cried a little bit, but I was somewhat stoic about the actual haircut. I'm not crazy about it, but that doesn't matter because at the rate it's falling out, I'm going to have to get my head shaved next week. I guess I'll have to pencil this in before I check back into the hospital for chemo.

I think I'm surprised at how emotionless I am about my hair. Maybe because it's falling out so fast and I know it'll be gone before long, I'm saving up my sad. Now I'm just panicking about stupid stuff like not knowing how to tie a decent headscarf.

I also finished reading "Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips" by Kris Carr. If there is such a thing as a manual for having cancer as a young woman, this book is it. She handles it with humor and she writes in a way that makes me feel like I'm not going crazy having the feelings I have. However, I will be ignoring her chapter on how a vegan lifestyle worked for her. I can give up my hair; I'm not giving up bacon too.

Good Days and Bad Days

I'm struggling today.

My standards of accomplishment are rapidly changing as this illness progresses. The mass is shrinking or breaking up and that's great progress. My blood counts are low but not low enough that I need blood products. I slept for almost three consecutive hours last night (and dreamed about some old Wild Wing friends). I walked to the mailbox and back by myself.

I'm also sad. Some of it is the medication. I am teary-eyed and depressed today and frustrated with myself at my lack of progress and energy. I am annoyed that I can't work up the energy to do Pilates and that I'm spending the whole day nauseated and curled in up in what Mom and I call Grandma's chair. Even the pills aren't helping the nausea, I'm stuck eating boring food, and the chemo-metallic taste isn't going away. My concentration still sucks and I can't finish magazines in one sitting.

Mom and I were talking earlier and I told her (and I'm trying to accept) that I just have to accept that I'm not going to feel great every day. I have to accept that some days it's a victory that I get out of bed. I can't beat myself up because I don't have the level of energy I had pre-chemo. Some days, I just have to use food as fuel, and hydrate and that's enough.

I also discovered I am one of the people in this world who hallucinates when they take Ambien. The breaking point came Tuesday night when I went on an hour-long freak-out, creating segments of a TV show that weren't happening, hearing voices, and convinced people from HR Pufinstuff were there for me while I was losing my hair. My mother was disturbed, obviously, as she tried to talk me down, but I was just terrified. I have absolutely no desire ever hallucinate like that again.

Also on the note of my hair: It's going to be gone by March. In my head (no pun intended), I am okay with the idea of losing my hair. I am okay with the idea of a cute Emma Watson pixie cut and know it's just hair and it's just temporary. But the reality of committing to cutting my hair, say this weekend, is just more than I'm ready for. It's stupid. It's hair. I used to be the person at the salon who was so "whatever" about every style.

Today I just don't feel ready for any of this.