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.