Brunette's Have More Fun (...Right?)

"We know how we got this far.. Strength and courage and a Wonderbra" 

(How I made it through the last 6 weeks. Ten points if you get the reference... #spiceupyourlife)

If you have opened this blog post, you're in for a treat. It's a sunny day, I'm sitting outdoors on my patio, and I already know this post is going to be extra long, since my life has been extra exciting these past few weeks (also because I have all of the necessities in arms reach: snacks, drinks and a foot rest. Why would I need to go inside?!). You'll hear me talk about my body hair, draining out (and measuring) my bodily fluids, how I react to anesthesia (you don't want to miss this), what not to tell someone before they go in for surgery, a story about the biggest needle I have ever seen, and even some cute baby pictures. It's gonna be a good one.

Before I can move forward, a quick story about my patio set. Here was the debate in the days before my surgery. Do we get a cute (less functional, less comfortable) patio set? Or do I say f**k it, and get the comfiest set I can find? I chose the latter. I got the set above and I LOVE it. I have already spent so much time out here. Jeff, however, asked me if he was being "Punk'd" when I brought them home. Okay... they're kinda ugly.

I'm going to start about three weeks ago: when I went in for my pre-op class at the hospital, to learn exciting things like how to empty bodily fluids out of my drains and how to properly treat my new breast (if this makes you uncomfortable, you definitely should not scroll through this post). Part of this lesson was from a physiotherapist. She went over exercises to help us fully recover from either a bilateral or single mastectomy. She lamented about how important exercises were to ensure you got back your full mobility. The first excercise? Put your hand into a fist and slowly open and close it. 

Wow. This is excercise? I hate excercise, but this is easy! If this is considered excercise, count me in!!

Wait.

You mean, I wont be able to open and close my hand? I won't be able to shrug my shoulders? How will I show Jeff how indifferent I am when it comes to choosing between Suits and Bloodline as our after-dinner show?!  (You simply can't ask me to choose between Coach and Harvey). What are these surgeons going to be doing to me?

I was a bit frantic about how I was going to live for 6 weeks without being able to make a fist, much less be able to use my arm for anything else. The severity of my surgery hit me. I signed up for an online course to learn coding that I hoped would pass the time and had books on books on books to keep me occupied and give me something to look forward to. 

The days before my surgery I pulled out all my summer clothing and moved all of my "comfy" clothes to an arm level distance. I definitely wouldn't be able to reach up high (I am not supposed to reach over my head or lift anything over 10lbs). I moved all of the best snack foods from the high cupboards so I could reach them, and I got some pretty awesome hot pink body pillows (Jeff loves this addition to our bedroom) to support my arms and hold them elevated while I was healing from my axillary dissection (scraping out all the lymph nodes in my armpits).

I remember back to the days before my surgery as being fairly... calm. I kept waiting to be nervous. I kept thinking I was holding something back, burying my true feelings, but it never did come. The day of my surgery my Mom, Jeff and I packed up and were at the hospital for 10:30AM. We had some waiting time where we laughed, caught up on Homeland, and were in pretty positive spirits all around.

Around 1:30PM, they sent me in to get a "block". I had no idea what this was. In case you don't either, it's a type of anesthesia that they inject into your back through a series of needles, that travels through the chest to numb the area for up to 24 hours. It helps with pain post surgery. 

I met with my anesthesiologist, and as she was administering the block, she asked if I has any questions. All that popped to mind was "How do you know I won't wake up in the middle of the surgery?"

"Well... I don't really."

(So NOT the answer you want to hear before going in to surgery).

"It can happen, but it isn't common for your type of surgery."

"Hey! Remember that movie that had the patient getting open heart surgery where he woke up in the middle of it? THAT would never happen".

...

Anyways.

I got wheeled into the operating room and Dr. Arnaout (still my hero) held my hand while they put the mask on and before I could count down to 3, I was asleep. 

I wake up about 3 hours later in the recovery room. I'm crying uncontrollably. There is one nurse for about 12 patients, all of us having strange reactions to the anaesthetic. I kept telling her "I'm not even sad!!". I just kept crying. I told her I was feeling anxious and she pumped me with more drugs.

They told me they weren't able to save enough skin to be able to do immediate reconstruction (no implant, yet). The cancer was too close to the skin. I had a spacer put in and the skin remaining was stretched over it. It's definitely a shocking thing to wake up to... nothing. More to come on this.

After about an hour of crying and confusion, I moved downstairs where I got to see my family. They let me rest for awhile. When I woke up it was 9PM and they told me it was time to go home. As long as I could walk and go to the washroom by myself, I could leave.

That was a joke.

I looked at her as if she was crazy and said... yeah. I am not moving out of this bed. The pain I felt was a 10/10. I couldn't stand the pressure in my side. They kept giving me more drugs. I tried to move and couldn't use my right arm much less sit up on my own. I tried to brave going to the washroom. Every time I tried to stand up and walk around I got sick.

This was around the time I was admitted to the hospital overnight. My family had to go home and I was moved back up to the recovery room.

I had this weird thing where I was convinced the doctor treating everyone in the recovery room was Bob from The Walking Dead. Anesthesia and morphine do strange things to my brain. 

As soon as I was admitted in for the night, I immediately relaxed. In reality it was probably the piles of drugs, but I don't remember the last time I was that relaxed. Knowing someone is going to look after you, that you're in the care of professionals, is super comforting. I was happy my family got to go home and sleep (although, I don't think they slept much). I tried to get up a few times (unsuccessfully), but eventually around noon the next day I was discharged and able to walk.

 

 Waking up in the hospital and being reunited with Jeff. Obvi needed a selfie to let everyone know I lived.

I determined it was because they make you fast before the surgery, and I hadn't eaten in almost 32 hours when I woke up in the hospital that I got so sick. Narcotics on an empty stomach don't agree with me!

Jeff and my mom shared the task of helping me sit, walk, lie down and get changed for the days following the surgery. I have been sleeping with my arm elevated and sitting up straight for almost three weeks now.

Last time I wrote to you was about a week after my surgery. By then I was able to walk, sit and stand on my own. I was able to fully lift my arm above my head. Despite the tragic tale of my night in the hospital (if you are going for surgery similar to mine, don't worry. That reaction is uncommon!), I'm recovering really well. My nurse told me that while in most cases they encourage their patients to stretch and move more, she told me to remember I just had a major surgery and not to over-do it. Why is everyone always trying to rain on my parade?! Doesn't everyone know it's summer now? I got patio drinking to do.

Up and at 'em!

You may or may not have heard about the dreaded drains. If you're my friend, chances are you got some disgusting pictures of me with my drains. I was fascinated by them. If you are getting this surgery done let me tell you something: they are NOT as bad as the internet makes them out to be.

The dreaded Jackson-Pratt drains

You empty the drains of fluid every few hours and measure how much is in them. Once they're below 30cc you can have them removed. I had 2 drains, and they stayed in for 10 days. One gave me problems. It wouldn't stop blocking. My nurse told me it was blocking with chunky "matter". Body matter. Stringy, cell-like material. Shudder.

 

Let me tell you what you're looking at. This is my side. Other then saving my life, Dr A also saved my tattoo. She put my drain right in between the petals! Fun fact: my mom drew my tattoo.

Anyways, once they were out, I was able to shower. This is a definite cause for celebration. 10 days of sweaty hot flashes = this girl needed a shower. I often wonder how Jeff still loves me. ;)

Spoiled brat! 

I went into my surgery without knowing what to expect. Now that I have gone through it, here is my list of things you absolutely need post-mastectomy (also, this is a good link to follow for more tips too):

1) A back pillow with arms to prop you up. It saved me.  (Note: I tagged this one because it was pink like mine, but then noticed it was $350. Do not spend $350. I got mine from Giant Tiger for $15).

2) A lap tray (because you will seriously not want to move any bone in your body if you don't have to for at least 5 days).

3) Clothing that zips up in the front. I couldn't lift my hands above my head, so any clothing I had to put over my head was out. Big, baggy sweaters were the best for me. I attached the drains to myself by pinning them to the zippers and wearing them like a fashionable necklace. 

4) Don't bother with the expensive bras. They recommend you get something without an underwire. If you go to a mastectomy boutique, they have beautiful options without a doubt, but in the end, my favorite bra has been my $5 cotton one from Wal-Mart.

5) Someone to stay with you for the first few days! They recommend someone stay with you for the first night, but I was so happy to have Jeff and my mom to administer my meds, make my food, and help me sit up and lie down for at least the first 4 days.

 

It wouldn't be a blog post without a picture of my kitties so... here you go.

I'm surprised (and grateful), because I honestly expected to be in bed for about 6 weeks. It's been 20 days since my surgery and I'm (almost) fully back to normal routine. Nights still suck, but what else is new? Hot flashes are still testing my patience, and I have to sleep sitting upright on top of everything. Narcotics made me have the strangest dreams (dead bears and bleeding eyeballs), but I'm able to do most basic functions. I can't work my upper body super hard but the pain is tolerable and at times almost non-existent.

Things I've been up to in the last few weeks:

My beautiful sister donated EIGHT INCHES of healthy hair to Hair Donation Ottawa last weekend and raised over $600 for the cause. I was overjoyed to see so many hairstylists donating their time, young girls (as young as 5!) cutting their hair for donation, and the amazing results: over $100 000 and hundreds of inches of hair. 

Some more life photos:

             

Family visits, long braids, plants that look like pineapples and patio lunch.

Yesterday we went to see Dr. Arnaout for my follow up appointment. She had my pathology report to review with me. When we got in the room together, she was near giddy. She said she could not have better news. My tumor had shrunk to 1.8 cm (down from it's original 10cm), and it is officially gone. She is confident that it was all removed. I had 26 lymph nodes removed from under my arms (remember: we all have a different number of lymph nodes!), and only 2 tested cancer-positive (less then 4mm). Two others had shown they were full of cancer but the chemo completely killed it off. This is promising because if there was any other cancer floating around my body, it is almost sure to have been killed off by the chemo as well.

So, May 4th I'm (technically) cancer-free. The chemo was extremely successful. Those times where I wanted to walk out and quit... were worth it. In the end, my pathology showed I officially had aggressive, Stage 3 breast cancer. To be honest, I thought I would be more elated. Don't get me wrong: I am so grateful. I could not have better news. I'm just tired. Cancer is tiring. It has literally taken up every waking moment of the last 6 months. I think it will take awhile to feel "normal" again.

I officially win for Transformation Tuesday.

I met with Dr Zhang this morning, our plastic surgeon. I was having pain under my arm. Although I have absolutely no feeling in my armpit and chest area that was operated on, it was definitely swollen. 

If you're afraid of needles, you should just get a touch of cancer. I can guarantee it will take care of that fear quicker then you can say "port-o-cath" (I kid). She pulled out this huge syringe (bigger then my whole hand. The actual needle was longer then my middle finger) and drained a ton of fluid from the area. She actually had to empty the syringe then come back for more. Immediately, I felt relief. This is called Seroma, and if it happens to you: get it checked out. The needle is freaky for sure, but you won't feel it go in. The surgery has damaged all the nerves in the area so the feeling is gone, and it can (sometimes!) be permanent.

After getting over the syringe, she then tells me she's going to "pump me up". So not as fun as it sounds. She grabs another equally large needle, and blows up my spacer with saline to stretch my skin so eventually when I go back for reconstruction, they can insert an implant.

Mentally, not only am I done with needles, but I'm also feeling over whelmed with so many appointments and information at once. Yet again, I'm heading into the unknown. Radiation starts in about a month.

We rocked out from a young age.

I find myself looking at old pictures often and saying "If only I had known what was coming for me!", or "If you had told me this was going to happen to me at 24, I wouldn't have believed you!". I tell myself I would have lived differently, but I know I wouldn't have. I would have worked the same amount, ate the same amount, drank the same amount, danced the same, loved the same, acted the exact same.

I have spent hours creeping Instagram at the "#breastcancer" hashtag, and it is unbelievable how many young women are diagnosed with this cancer. When Dr. Arnaout told me I had stage three breast cancer, I was shocked. Initially I thought I had stage two. Not that it matters now, but it just made me realize (again) how real this was. Stage four is considered incurable... I can't believe I had almost let it get that far.

Here's my cancer spiel for this post. My girl Nalie has a great initiation to #feelitonthefirst. Check yourself out on the first of the month. It's not about doing it right it's about doing it regularly and getting to know your own body. The second you notice changes, get it checked out ASAP. Not every change means you have breast cancer, but it's worth taking a look. Her video below made me giggle: the best way to get comfortable with a topic that makes people uncomfortable is to just be open and real about it. You could save yourself from chemo, radiation, surgery, recovery - heck you can save your own life.

Oh, and in case you're wondering what 7 weeks post-chemo hair looks like...

 

Thought I would say "Hi!" from my patio (Where'd my blonde go?!). Thank you (again) for all of your support from my last post. Life seems to be trying to test my positivity... but as long as the sun is shining and there are still cute puppies, kitties and babies to snuggle in this world then what is there to be sad about?

Until next time...

xx

Sam

PS - Link to my e-mail here. Just in case you want to hear more about drains, fake boobs, or how to efficiently clip your extensions into your wigs, I'm a jack of all trades over here, and just a quick click away. ;)  

PPS - I wrote this post on May 9th and just never posted it. So, here it is. More has of course happened since then, so stay tuned!

The Post I Never Thought I Would Have To Write

I mentioned in my last post that my family was going through a bit of a hard time. Naturally, when a member of your family gets diagnosed with something like cancer, it takes it's toll on every member. I have seen the stresses my illness has had on our family. We're tired. It was a long winter. Our eyes are a bit dark and our brains are a bit fuzzy. The stress fills you up inside and you brush it off because you know tomorrow is coming and this isn't over yet. It isn't easy to watch someone you love suffer. I know that.

I can also, genuinely, say that these last few months have been some of the best I can remember .

It's sad to admit, but I have spent more time with my family then I have since I was a kid. You can't pick your family, but if I could, I would pick mine over and over again. We are meant to be together. It has become so clear to me in how we have made it through this winter. I have had my family by my side during this whole process: every chemo, every headache, every heartache. I have had my mom, sister and dad every step of the way. My dad will stop by and bring me a coffee when he's on his way to a catering just to check in on me. He calls me every morning. My mom has never left my side and has bathed me, read to me, slept beside me and kept me company. My sister has made me laugh and never let me take this whole thing too seriously. She is also so kind. She is the most genuine person I know.

I have gotten to spend time getting to know my cousins. I get to talk to my aunts and uncles more regularly. I have the best, most caring, kind, selfless, and loving godmother in the entire world, of this I am positive (I now have a cleaning service for a year, so that speaks for itself, but mainly for all of the beautiful text messages I receive daily that help keep me positive and thinking about the big picture).

My family is stuck with me. My diagnosis, my treatments, especially my genes. It would have been easy to send well wishes and go about life. But they remember every appointment, every milestone, and cheer me on every step. They make me feel like I am better the way I am now. That cancer has freed me, that this time I've spent healing has made me more... "me".

My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer less then 4 weeks ago. She is going in for surgery this Wednesday (I am sitting in the hospital waiting for her right now, actually). I want to respect her privacy. Writing this blog has gotten a whole lot more complicated. I don't want to speak for her, but she said it was OK I post about it. It has changed how I feel about everything. Despite my great need to respect her privacy, I would love if you could take all of your positivity and love you have shown me and send it her way. She needs it more then I do, at the moment.

My genetics were negative so our cancer is unrelated. I wonder sometimes if I'm being taught a lesson. If I'm being told to take action, to make great strides in cancer related work. There must be a reason that less then a week after I finished my last chemo, my mom would find out she will undergo the same surgery I will less then a week after mine.

When we tell this to our nurses and other well wishers, everyone inevitably starts to tear up. It's shocking. It's actually... unbelievable. 

She went for a mammogram when I was diagnosed. They wanted to do one, "just to be safe". I wonder if in an alternate universe, my mom got cancer and never found it. I wonder if, because of this, I was given cancer so that she would be sent to find hers before it got too far. When I think that way, it makes me feel better. It gives it some meaning. Regardless, we will both live. We're going to be okay.

I could keep saying how unbelievable it all is, how unfair life can be. I know my mom can't accept that it's true: she was supposed to be the one to care for me. She wants everyone's attention to be focused on my healing. It was supposed to be my battle. She was going to help me through it. That's how she sees it, anyways.

My mom and I have this strong, sometimes strange, intertwined relationship. We just know each other. I have always felt this closeness to my mom that has never compared to anyone else in my life. It's like we are the same person; sometimes it's hard to distinguish her from me. She knows me better then anyone else. I never have to make my mom a Christmas list: she will know exactly what I want, before I even know I want it. In high school, she never told me my purple eye makeup was too much, that my music was scaring her (when your kid starts relating to Marilyn Manson, I can imagine that can be a bit nervewracking), and she let me sleep on a mattress on the floor when I was a teenager because I thought I was cool. I never once felt ashamed, embarrassed, or that I had to hide my true self from her. It has come out in my multiple hair colours, nail polish, and ever-changing taste in music. Each one equally as supported as the last. Even to this day, she is the first one I want to talk to about all of my new hobbies and activities (or more recently, side effects and doctors appointments).

So I guess, somewhere, in some alternate reality, it makes perfect sense we would have cancer together. I couldn't go through this life altering diagnosis by myself. And while I knew that I had my mom's support, I guess the world thought we needed to both have this experience together. To continue to truly understand one another.

I have asked myself multiple times, privately and on this blog: why is this happening? Is cancer really "random"? Is there a higher being, is there an alternate reality, is there a real reason this is happening to me, and not someone else? What am I supposed to learn from this experience? How will this change me? What will I do with this new life of mine when this year is done? Why me?

With the news of my mom, I have so many more questions. I have spoken multiple times on my blog about the "random"-ness that has come to me in times of need through people that I have believed are here to show me I am doing OK. I'm on the right track. There has always been a little sign. I feel so strongly that this just has to be too coincidental to be random. 

I was watching Mad Men last night, there are only 3 episodes left until the series finale. They are tying up loose ends. Things that have happened in season 1 or 2 are finally being explained. Everything comes around full circle. It made me think of this situation. 

I may not know why this is happening to me (us) now, but I don't doubt, somewhere down the road, it will become clear. It usually does.

My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer less then a week after my last chemo. We have been attending all of our pre-op appointments together. Our surgeon can't believe this could be happening. No one at our hospital has ever seen anything like this before.

It's almost unbelievable. But... is it, really? Mom: we have been through everything else together. It only makes sense that together, we will get through this too. 

xx

Sam

It Doesn't Have To Be Perfect, It Just Has To Be Done

1 & 2) MOH duties. Wedding dress trial! 3&4) Refreshing our apartment for Spring. 5) Can you tell I'm like really, really happy for Spring to be here? 6) Sens game!

Hey!

It's been (nearly) a month since I updated you all on my current affairs. It's been exactly 1 month since my last Lupron injection, and 22 days since my last chemo. This means I'm essentially Lupron free, and in about 10 days the chemo will be out of my system. Yay!

So much has happened in the last month, that I almost felt I couldn't blog anymore. I felt I could never write it all out, I would never catch up. I tend to feel the same way when I scrapbook and I get really behind on my dates: next thing I know I have a year's worth of pictures to scrapbook and it deters me from getting started. I feel so bogged down and behind.

I feel the same way about my blog. I don't know where to begin. I guess the old phrase rings true in that "it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be done" and "you just have to start". So... here it goes:

My family has been going through some major hardship this past month which has changed absolutely everything. I am going to choose to not say anything more at this time, and hope you can respect our need for privacy, but I promise I will write about it in due time. It's part of the story. It needs and begs to be told, but I can't decide how I feel yet. In some ways, it isn't even my story to tell. Sorry for being so cryptic, but I will leave you with this: we are all okay, we will all be okay, and I am very proud to come from such a strong and supportive family (both Price AND Mitchell). We are beyond lucky for the support we have been given.

So.. let's go back about a month!

I was really blessed to have had so many of my friends and family come for my last chemo session. I felt like a proud mom showing off her honours students. I brought them all into the chemo ward, and had everyone rotate so they could come up in 10 minute increments to sit with me (the nurses only allowed me to have 2 people sit with me at a time). I showed them the big fireplace I love to sit by, introduced everyone to my lovely nurses, and showed them where to get water, hot blankets and ice mitts. When it came time to ring the bell, everyone was allowed to come upstairs. We took over the entire hallway and I was really touched to see all the nurses crying to see all of the support. For some reason, I decided I wouldn't wear my hat when I rung the bell. It was something I decided in the last few minutes. I knew there would be lots of pictures being taken. Up to this point, I hadn't allowed anyone to take any pictures of me without my hat or wig, let alone just see me without my hats or wig.

Talented Cakes by Crystal ;)

We were all undecided on the dress code. St Patty's day green or breast cancer pink? My best friends chose to do both...

Even got my family from afar watching on Facetime!

I decided when I looked back on the video and pictures, I would feel like I was cheating myself if I didn't show what the treatment truly did to my body. I wanted to be able to see (and everyone that would be seeing the pictures too), what chemo actually "looks" like. I have been fairly open about my treatments, so why should I not be open with what it has done to me? This is me - this is what I look like - and I am okay with that. In all honesty, I'm not able to watch the video of myself ringing the bell. I haven't watched it once. It doesn't feel real yet.

My chemo bell from one of my best friends. When I rang the bell at the hospital, it was hard to be as excited as I wanted to be because I knew I had a rough week ahead of me. She gave me my own bell I could ring once I felt better!

I re-read some of my past posts from this winter where I said I was okay. I was and AM okay. I lived through it. The worst, I believe, is over. But I can't help but laugh when I remember thinking around Christmas that I was "okay", because honestly: I was far from okay. I was very sick. I was not myself. You say you're okay and you put your head down and get through it, but looking back... wow. It wasn't a walk in the park. In retrospect it was painful, it was exhausting, and sometimes it felt never-ending... but here we are and Spring is upon us and I made it. Seems significant that with the end of my treatments and as I start to heal comes the sunshine and good weather.

I thought long and hard, and if I were to give chemo advice, this would be it:

1) Don't rush out and buy an expensive wig, hats and scarves until the hair is gone. Sure, have a few scarves on hand for when it starts to fall but let me tell you: I bought every leopard print scarf and hat under the sun and spent a fair amount of money doing so. Once the hair was gone, you learn what makes you comfortable. I never felt entirely comfortable going out in scarves and hats. I wore wigs most of the time, and donated most of the hats I purchased to the cancer center. Wait and see what suits you!

2) Utilize the resources available to you. I didn't, and I regret it. You are able to see social workers, nutritionists, and get free classes at the Maplesoft center (knitting, yoga, etc). Sign up for Look Good, Feel Better (a class that shows women undergoing treatments how to apply makeup and style wigs etc. and you get a BIG swag bag!), and look into getting free wigs and hats through the hospital. We are so lucky to have this available to us.

3) Eat healthy! Unlike in the movies, you won't spend your whole treatment puking. In fact, the steroids increase your appetite. This, paired with the fact that you will  be too exhausted to excercise much, means that you are likely to gain weight. I let myself off the hook for the first few months and told myself... you have cancer! Poor you! Eat what you want. This will catch up with you, and fast. Now, I have to worry about losing the chemo weight. It would have been easier to eat healthy from the get go!

4) Be kind to yourself and listen to your body. It's so discouraging to finally start to feel good after treatments, knowing you have to go back in for your next one. It feels like a never-ending cycle. On days when you feel good take advantage of it. Don't be hard on yourself when you need to have a laid back day. Give yourself little things to look forward to: knowing I had a new book to read while I was recovering or getting addicted to a TV show is a good way to pass the time!

5) Be prepared. You will have so many appointments. Use a planner (either on your phone or written down). Fill your prescriptions early so you aren't running around on chemo day. Have an appointment buddy. You will forget things if you go to appointments alone. It's better to have a second set of ears!

6) It's only hair. Don't fall for all of the products that will help you "keep your hair" longer. Nothing you put on your head will combat the intensity of the medicine you are putting in your body. Hair was one of the hardest hurdles for me, but in the end: you get over it. The sooner you come to terms with it the sooner you can move on!

I thought I would feel more proud, excited, or hopeful but in truth I'm still in warrior mode. I am only 1/3 done and I am moving on to the next hurdle. Surgery time!

I met with my surgeon, Dr. Arnaout, about a week and a half ago. I was so excited to see her again. The first time we met, if you'll remember, it was my birthday and I ended up ugly crying, wiping my snot on Jeff's shoulder and worrying about how in the world I would look without hair (Girl needed to learn some priorities!). This time, I came equipped with questions.

I go for my surgery on April 15th where I will be having a full mastectomy and axillary lymph node dissection. 

I went into the appointment with one demand: I never, ever want to go through this again. Whichever surgery that will guarantee I never have to go through this again, I will endure. I asked for a double mastectomy.

Here's the great thing about Dr. Arnaout and why I love how forward thinking the views on breast health are here in Ottawa: when I asked for the double they looked at me like I was CRAZY. This may have been a solution in the past, but just "getting rid of everything" isn't really an acceptable solution anymore.

She asked me "Sam, if I told you that you had a 90% chance of winning the lottery, would you buy a ticket?" I said, of course. She said "Okay. Now what if I told you there was only a 10% chance of you ever getting cancer in your right breast in your lifetime? Would you still choose to remove it?".

Because my genetics test came back negative, there is actually a very small chance I will develop cancer in the other side. Even WITH a mastectomy, I still have about a 5-10 percent chance of recurring breast cancer even in my left side. I think she could see my worry about this, and being wonderful, she told me instead of mammograms, she will screen me with MRI's longer then any patient she has had before. If there is any cancer in my future, it will be caught early. This put my mind at ease.

So, she measured the tumor. Guess what? In the end, it came back no bigger then 3cm. To the touch, it is so small, sometimes I'm not sure where it is. Considering how BIG it was when I started, I felt pretty good about this.

I had always prepared for a mastectomy, but we decided that based on the MRI, I would possibly be able to have a lumpectomy. There is lots of research that a lumpectomy with radiation is equally as effective as removing the whole breast. Not to mention, no implant needed, much less recovery time, and there is no part 2 for the surgery. I could go back to work in August. You know me: I got my hopes up. I hadn't even considered this an option. I anxiously awaited my MRI results.

When I got the call, I knew from her tone of voice that we didn't have good news. Firstly, the chemo had done SUCH a good job of removing the cancer in my lymphnodes, that she is not able to see which one originally had cancer to begin with. Since she is unable to detect the one, all of my lymphnodes will have to be removed. This leave a chance for lymphdema in my future. Not the best case scenario: it means a longer recovery time with much less mobility. I won't be able to reach above my head from anywhere between 4-6 weeks.

Secondly, even though my tumor FELT smaller to the touch, it actually left a "hole" behind. Essentially, it left a hollow tumor in my breast. The inside no longer has cancer inside of it, but the outside of it that was left behind is still cancerous. Due to this, I need the mastectomy. The recovery time is about 4-6 weeks.

At first I was a bit upset about this. I have made sure to never get my hopes up throughout the last few months: if you don't get your hopes up you are never disappointed and you ALWAYS feel prepared for the worst case scenario. In reality, I am getting the surgery I always assumed I would be! So, instead of being upset, I have decided to just arm myself with information and prepare as best I can for this new body of mine!

I met with my plastic surgeon yesterday. I had to have a laugh: I never thought I would be meeting with a plastic surgeon THIS early in my life. Her name is Dr. Zhang and she is young but super smart. I trust her fully and we discussed all my options. There are a few options when you go for breast reconstruction: you can choose to have it done right away (same surgery, you wake up with a new boob), or later on. Regardless when you choose to have it done, it is covered by our healthcare.You can choose to have implants put in, or to my surprise, you can choose to have your own fat from your stomach taken and used to make an "implant". The procedure takes about 9 hours (versus the 1 hour for the saline) and your stomach has to heal as well. This is for people who are really against having the saline implants. I am a lover of makeup and fancy things. I had 20" platinum blonde extensions for most of last year so... implants don't really bother me that much! In fact, I think I'll be happy to have them when I'm 50. Ha.

 Dr. Arnaout applauded me for my good attitude, but kept telling me repeatedly not to underestimate the psychological side effects having a mastectomy can have on your well being. Surprisingly, I don't feel nervous... at all, for this surgery. It's 2 days away and I keep waiting to feel sad at the fact that I am losing my breast but I just don't. I'm pretty excited to have them get rid of it. Technically, after the surgery is over and with the lymphnodes removed, I will be (unofficially) deemed cancer-free. And that will feel better then having a real breast does.

Since this appointment, I have been at the hospital and at various doctors appointments nearly every day preparing for surgery. I go in Wednesday (I wish I could tell you a time, but they only tell you the night before the surgery!), so starting Saturday I decided to take some time for myself. I went for a pedicure and we had a party at our apartment on Saturday night, Sunday I spent time with my best friends walking around Lansdowne, and tomorrow I'm going to see Dirty Dancing at the NAC!

Out of town friends!

Don't ask me how many caesar's I've had this week. 

Sometime tomorrow I plan on stocking my apartment with groceries and buying the comfiest patio chair money can buy. If I have to be in recovery for 4-6 weeks, I will be doing it outdoors in the Spring sun!

Easter!

In other breaking news, I have hair again. Albeit, not much... but it is there! And... it is brown. I have always been a blonde so this is throwing me off a bit. Especially since I made a pact to keep it healthy and refrain from over-dyeing it again. My baby hairs are so soft to the touch, it makes me regret ever bleaching my long (not so) luxurious locks to begin with. My family's new favorite game is to hold up baby pictures of me and say "YOU LOOK THE SAME!".  I've been looking up short pixie haircuts and I'm getting excited! I noticed hair growth almost immediately after my last treatment, but it wasn't until last week that my eyelashes and brows stopped falling out. They're looking pretty sad and patchy but I can see little hairs growing in. Funny enough, my arm hair is finally deciding to go. It's crazy that after a month the chemo is still taking it's toll.

I am also in the middle of looking into massage therapy that specializes in post-chemo recovery. If you have any recommendations, let me know!

   
Hanging out with a couple of my besties.

Normally this would be the time I would throw in something cheesy about how grateful I am for the people in my life, or something about cancer and looking on the bright side. Today I have a different story to tell. Jeff and I had our 6 year anniversary on April 1st (for those of you that don't have me on Facebook: Yes, he asked me out on April Fools, yes he said "APRIL FOOLS" after he asked me out). 

When Jeff found out about my diagnosis, he was the rock. While I was a mess, and my mom was so worried... Jeff went into warrior mode for all of us. He will be embarrassed about me posting this, but he ordered a book called "Breast Cancer Husband" (cute, right?), only to decide he didn't need a book to get us through this. We were going to do it our way. He constantly reassured me that cancer didn't mean I had to stop living my life. We went on living as normally as we can. When we went to the canal and I could only skate for a half hour, he got us Beavertails and helped me skate back. And, while in the last few months I haven't been as active as I usually am, he never once made me feel guilty for sleeping in a little late or for watching one too many episodes of TV. He has looked after me completely: from making every meal, doing my laundry, and always asking me "Doing OK?!". I think that it is engrained in him at this point: I will wake up in the middle of the night to turn on the fan and he subconsciously asks me if I'm okay. He has literally dedicated the last 5 months helping me get better: every day off, every holiday, every evening taking care of me, coming to all of my appointments and making sure I'm comfortable.

He has used humor to get us through the toughest of times (the boob jokes are starting to get a bit old babe), but in those random moments when I just need to have a good cry he always holds me until the moment passes. I was looking back on pictures from when we first met, and looked at myself in the mirror and I am always still shocked at what I see. My eyes are sunken in and I'm constantly sweaty from hot flashes, not to mention the no eyebrows thing, and yet Jeff tells me every day I'm beautiful and he loves me more then he ever has. I think this is a little white lie, but I'll take a compliment when I can get one.

Going through something like this together really shows the strength in your relationship. Whenever I say "I don't want to do this anymore" he always tells me "I know, but you have to do it for me! I need you around!". So - here's to dedicating this year to my health so we can spend the next 6 years together. The next 20, 40, 60 years. It will all be worth it in the end. 

Anyways, I think that's all I've got for now. I'll see you on the other side! (with one less body part and two stitched in drains.. joy!) 

xx

Sam

5 Ways Having Cancer Is Like an Episode of the Walking Dead

I started watching The Walking Dead back in November when I was deciding which shows were going to get me through the long winter ahead. I declared nothing could beat Breaking Bad, but I'd heard pretty good things about The Walking Dead and I needed a show I could admit to people I was actually watching (The Carrie Diaries doesn't go over well and I just can't bring myself to re-watch all ten seasons of Friends yet).

Don't watch the show? Well, let me give you some back story. The world is essentially taken over by... the walking dead. A dude (Rick) awakens from a coma to find an apocalyptic world that is dominated by zombies (nicknamed "Walkers") that eat human flesh and blood. He sets out to find his wife and son and let's just say trouble ensues along the way.

There's a whole slew of characters that I love more then I loved the cast of LOST (and I really loved Hurley in LOST...). I just finished Season 4: Episode 12 (every episode is feeling like it should be the finale and I am on edge here, people. I can't believe I am writing this post instead of finishing it off!)

When I first heard about Walking Dead, I wrote it off as gory and disgusting. I didn't see the context. I saw a whole lot of gruesome zombie stabbing. That's not something that's normally up my alley. Then, one day, I was talking to my boss and he said "It isn't about gore and killing! It's about humanity, and how we come together when everything goes wrong!".

Don't get me wrong though. There is still some gore.

So I'm watching a show where a (really hot) guy literally runs around with a crossbow and annihilates zombies, and I find myself tearing up and thinking "The Walking Dead is like having cancer. This is like my life!".


I can't use a sword like Michonne and I definitely don't have the stamina right now to endure long battles and supply runs but let me explain...

Daryl used to be a real hick in his past life. He used to get up to no good, and he wasn't going anywhere. Beth is a daughter of a devout Christian and has maintained fairly innocent throughout the show. In the episode I watched last night, the pair is sitting around the fire, separated from their friends, neither saying much. Beth suddenly exclaims "I NEED A DRINK. A real drink! I've never had one before. Let's go and find something!". Off they go, in search of an abandoned bar. (winning quote of the episode: "if you're going to drink for the first time it's damn well not going to be Peach Schnapps").

Daryl has grown a lot since the apocalypse, but when he sees an old trailer - reminiscent of his childhood home - he's reminded of what he used to be. Beth and Daryl spend the evening drinking moonshine on the porch of the trailer, where Beth gets that cute look on her face and suggests they burn it down. They joyfully cover the home with booze and light a match as they stand back and give the middle finger to his childhood, getting closure from his past life.

 

They could have stayed in the forest eating snakes around a fire. It would have been the safe option.  But it's our human instinct to want to do more then what's safe.

In our lives, we do what Daryl and Beth did all the time. We could have a home with a simple bed and a toilet but instead we decorate our spaces. We read, travel, blog. We jump out of airplanes and tightrope between buildings! We don't need to do any of those things to merely survive: we do them because we long for something more then basic survival. Like burning down a house to give yourself closure or making it a mission to find your first drink. Not necessary for survival, but necessary in giving your life meaning. It was at that point I decided my life was a lot like this show.

Sometimes I find myself feeling that sometimes it would be easier to just stay in bed. I'm too sore to go out. I'm too tired to walk. I'm too exhausted to read. It would be safer, easier for me to stay in tonight. I just got chemo on Tuesday. But there is a sens/leafs game tonight where all of my friends will be and I don't know if I'll survive it but that sounds like it could be pretty fun (Happy Birthday Chandy).

So instead you get up and go out. You force yourself to talk about what's going on and you write a blog to connect with other people who have the same experiences as you do. You could close your eyes and wake up in November, when this is all over but you don't. You keep on keeping on and you make the best of the year ahead.

Five (more) Reasons Having Cancer Is Like An Episode of The Walking Dead

1) It is now considered "normal" to see a Walker (dead zombie), and how casually even the youngest child will now kill them, four seasons in. We survive, we adapt.

Cancer becomes your new normal. It's shocking at first, yes. You aren't sure how to interpret the information you've been given. You're in shock, you're overwhelmed, you think you're going to die.

I assume you would feel the same if there was a zombie apocalypse on earth, too....

2) Slowly, as time passes, you start to realize you aren't dead yet (from cancer... or from a zombie) and you better start fighting for your life.

What was once so shocking (cancer diagnosis vs. zombie apocalypse), starts to feel considerably normal.

You start to just live with cancer/zombies and acknowledge the fact that it's there and you may as well just deal with it. It hasn't killed you yet, so you start to devise ways to distract yourself from it.

You learn all of the specific ways in which you can fight off the cancer side effects/fight off the zombies and while it definitely helps (like putting up the stakes outside the prison guard walls vs. doing chemo) ... underneath, the cancer (walkers) are still there.

3) It feels like the next 8 months are a lifetime. You can't imagine a life after cancer (after zombie apocalypse).

You start to build a new life around the cancer. It doesn't look like what you'd imagined or hoped for yourself, but it's still your life and you realize it's still worth living. 

Same as in The Walking Dead. In reality, they could stay in one place, never making a "new" life for themselves in this new world of theirs. They could hole up and become reclusive, wallowing at the end of the world. That would be one boring show though...(and one boring life).

4) You could worry constantly about the cancer coming back (or, never settling down again because well.. it's a zombie apocolypse so how can we ever feel safe?).

 You could let the fear paralyze you from having children and raising them in a world that may involve cancer. You could avoid attachment and marriage to prevent the pain of losing someone you love to the illness. My fave couple on the show, Maggie & Glenn, also battle with these types of questions.

5) At one point, residential bad guy "The Governor" looks at his lover when she asks "What kind of life will my daughter be living if we go ahead and kill all of those people in the prison? What will she be in this life?"

And he respond "Alive. She will be alive".

While this is true, you can tell she isn't happy with the answer. Being alive isn't enough. If you abandon your morals in a time of struggle, you won't be happy to be alive. It's what keeps us who we are in times of trial.

---

The group of survivors on the show band together. It doesn't matter where they're living: whether it be a farm, a prison, or an abandoned home. They fight for their safety and they will do anything to stay "alive". Multiple times on the show, they ask themselves (and each other): why are we doing this? What do we have left to live for? We are inevitably, sooner or later, going to die. Our situation is dire. Our loved ones are gone. We have no home, no food, no stability. Why are we fighting, with everything we have, to keep moving forward?

Because you just do. Because it's in our nature. Because life isn't always a graph with a straight line going up. Because there is more to life then just surviving. Despite the impending end of the world, there is still love to be found (Maggie & Glen), babies to teach right from wrong (Judith), friendships with that unbreakable bond (Daryl & Carol), and our basic human instinct: to make the right choices. To choose living, always. To choose morals, and to not abandon them when things get tough (Rick & Herschel).

Walking Dead isn't a show about zombies. It has little to do with zombies, actually. It's really about the characters. It's about human instinct. It asks the tough questions. It's about choices; love, loyalty, loss, morality, survival, trust. It's about hope against all odds.

Kind of like living with cancer. Except I don't get to be saved by Norman Reedus... and that just isn't fair.

The Beginning Of the End!

1-2-3: Support in ways of Kleenex and Flowers... :) 4: Took myself out on a Starbucks date at 9:30PM on Friday. Jeff was closing and I could only think about how much time I'll be spending in my bed next week so I figured...why not. When she asked me if I wanted whip, this time I said HELL yes (not actually though).

This week I had my last Lupron shot. This was the first time I was able to do something for the last time!

Do you know what that means?

IN ONE MONTH THE HOT FLASHES WILL BE GONE.

Next thing I know, it will be Tuesday: MY LAST TREATMENT. For real though...this is not a drill!!

TUESDAY I WILL HAVE MY LAST CHEMO TREATMENT.

MY LAST DAY OF CHEMO WILL BE TUESDAY.

I HATE SAYING THE WORD CHEMO AND I'M SO HAPPY THIS WILL BE THE LAST TIME I HAVE TO SAY I AM DOING IT. 

GAH.

Okay, I'm done. That's how I feel about it though. 5 rounds done, 1 to go. This time, I don't even care. Throw whatever side effects you want at me. I can handle anything at this point.

I met with my oncologist today. For the first time, I was by myself. I felt brave. I always go into my appointments with Jeff and my mom. This is pretty helpful because sometimes the information they give you can be overwhelming. I need my note-takers. Jeff is the analytical one, if you can't tell. I'm a bit more artsy-fartsy and sometimes.... un-organized.

Today I had Crystal and Payton (Jeff's sister and niece... my hospital buddies!) to accompany me in the waiting room. Payton impressed me and kept me entertained with her best rendition of "Sugar" by Maroon5 (she is 2). She more then impressed my fellow cancer patients as she played on an app that turns your voice into a high pitched mouse sound. She had her baby headphones on and did that hilarious thing where you yell so loud because you can't gauge how loud the music in your ears is. She was bringing such joy and laughter to everyone sitting and waiting (probably anxiously) to hear how they are bearing their treatments. You could see how happy she made them and it was such a light in what can sometimes be a very dark place. Those hallways have seen too many of my tears! Crystal made me laugh by telling me Payton has named one of her boy dolls "Don". We wonder where she even learned the name "Don", much less decided to call one of her dolls by the name. I laughed so hard. I looked forward to getting a Timmies and sitting and chatting with Crystal before I went for my appointment all day yesterday. I love when we go to appointments together.

So, I go in to meet my oncologist and we get right down to business. He asks me how I fared with my last treatment, I say A-OK. Not nearly as much stomach pain, tons of sleeping, sore body (surprisingly they don't take "I feel like I got in a car accident" as an acceptable way to explain how much pain I was in. They prefer the 1-10 scale instead). I showed him my nails (which are pretty cool despite how they are peeling and slowly deteriorating...they have little white lines etched into them, one for each of my chemo treatments. You can literally see where they stopped and started growing again after each one). I asked him about the bloating and the weight gain and the sore neck that doesn't seem to want to go away. I asked him about my sparse eyelashes and eyebrows. I wanted him to give me a drug, vitamin or ingredient to help make them grow stronger and longer. I wanted him to perform magic and pull a bunny out of a hat and make it all disappear. He did tell me what it was going to take to make all of my above symptoms go away: patience and time.

It takes one month for the chemo to leave your system. This means on April 17th 2015 I will be eating a smoked salmon bagel and drinking an extra spicy caesar for breakfast. It takes about two months to feel "normal" again (in most cases). In two months you can expect to see hair growth, fatigue lifting, and your body slowly fighting to go back to normal. By May 17th 2015, I should be sporting a super cute crew cut.

Appetizing chemo diet....

Just kidding. In between my treatments I've actually been having some delicious food! ;)

Somewhere in between there I will be going for my surgery. I received a call today from my surgeon to schedule an appointment to see her. I will have way more details on when/what that will entail after this appointment, so until then... I'm not going to say much. I'm not certain what she's going to recommend. Ultimately, it will be my choice but her influence will play heavily into my decision. I DO know, from meeting with my oncologist today, that I should be going in for surgery mid-April. I thought it would be nearing the end of April, so I officially only have one more month before I mourn the loss of a body part. It feels a bit strange.

He measured my tumor at about 5cm. This is okay! Although it measured about 5cm across, we both agreed it felt different. It is taking up less space. The depth has likely shrunk... this is something we won't be able to measure until I go for surgery, but it is a good thing. The more the cancer shrinks, the less chance they leave anything behind after the surgery, the less chance of relapsing.

I don't feel anxious anymore. I'm feeling stoked. I'm feeling like I can see the light here. I listen to my body and have applied less pressure on myself to be so active. A few days this week I slept in until 2PM. I haven't done this since I was in high school. But... I am just so tired. So, I let myself sleep in. It felt so good.

I have two feel good stories to accompany my post today!

1) My beautiful, amazing sister has hair that grows like a weed (why did this skip my genes?). This week we went for lunch together and this is how our conversation went:

Me: LIANNE... NEVER CUT YOUR HAIR! It is sooo beautiful. You should grow it down to your bum. Never cut it. 

Lianne: I don't know. Maybe you're right. I'll just trim off the split ends or something.

8 hours later:

What a schemer.

She's going to be participating in Hair Donation Ottawa's 5th Annual Fundraising Event. Her hair will be made into a wig for a company called 360-Hair; they make free wigs for young adults with cancer. All proceeds will go towards research specifically geared towards cancer found in young adults! You can donate to Lianne here.

 2) I put some money down to get a second wig last week. I have been humming and hah-ing over this for quite some time. I wanted to play around with something a little bit longer. I wanted to be able to switch up my appearance. I was getting bored with the same look every day (the original wig I got was synthetic, if you remember! It means it can't be styled). I was having such a hard time justifying the money. So, when my mom sent me a message saying one of her friends had reached out to her and said she had "wigs" (with a plural!! That meant more then one!) that were blonde and she wanted me to have, I was so ecstatic! I just picked them up the other day. They are absolutely beautiful, well cared for, and so my style. I couldn't even wait to get home. I whipped off my hat and put one on right away. I also took a selfie. I was pretty excited...

I am now the owner of three new wigs: a short blonde bob, a longer wig with bangs (flashback to 6 years ago!!), and a beautiful and natural looking human hair wig. It was better then getting a new purse or a new dog*. I'm being serious though, it was such a kind and genuine gesture and something I won't be able to say enough "thank you's" for. It really made me feel more "myself" at a time when I couldn't look or feel less like myself.

* Which is a whole other story. I almost conned Jeff into letting me get a dog last month. It was my dream puppy: a little Yorkie. The day I was diagnosed, while I was crying, I looked up at Jeff with big sad eyes and said..."So...does this mean I can finally get a dog? To keep me company while I'm home... all alone?". He said YES that day and I will not let him forget it! Side note: our apartment won't even allow us to have a dog...

 

It's okay though because how cute are these faces. We were enjoying the Spring weather we were having for all of one day this week. Then it started to hail and freezing rain... remember I said in my last post... this ALWAYS HAPPENS. 

Okay... now for the serious bit of the post that you may have assumed was coming (are my blog posts becoming predictable now or what?)

I spent my evening tonight reading breast cancer blogs (my new favorite past-time, apparently). On March 6th, a woman named Lisa Adams passed away after 9 years of battling breast cancer (on and off). In 2012, she learned it had metastasized to her bones, followed by her liver and lymphnodes. She wrote a wonderful blog. She did not spare us any details. You will cry at her poems and her honesty. She had about 4000 people subscribed to her Facebook, which she updated frequently, and 15 000 followers on twitter. Every single morning she tweeted the same thing.

She wrote her last blog post on March 1st, only five days before she passed. On March 5th, she updated her Facebook status to say:

Things are quite quite serious. Please do not text or email daily. I can't answer.

 Doesn't that make your stomach drop?

You see the progression in her posts. Slowly, it becomes less about being a warrior and fighting for another day and more about managing her pain. There have been multiple articles written about Lisa since she lost her battle to cancer. It's brought up the topic: is blogging and tweeting about cancer a good idea?

Lisa had lots of criticism for posting so openly and freely about her diagnosis. Some feel like she should have spent that time living her life, spending time with her kids. Some feel like it opens you up to criticism... as in, you're asking for it by posting on the internet. The internet isn't like a support group, there is no facilitator to make sure things don't get ugly.

Sometimes Lisa would tweet upwards of 100 times per day. She admitted it made her feel less alone. She felt as if she was showing us what living with metastatic breast cancer was truly like. There have been articles about whether or not this is TMI. People are freely admitting it was like watching a TLC TV show unfold. They became addicted to following Lisa. Only... this is someone's real life. This isn't scripted. One day she was tweeting and the next... she was gone.

I'm a big reader. I have read lots of books by authors whom have passed away. Yet... reading Lisa felt so raw and real. I was reading words that were published only weeks (days!) ago, by a woman that was very much alive. How can she be gone? She was just able to post to her blog! I felt cheated, and then I felt sad, and then I felt dread. It can happen just like that. 

There was an article published in the NY Times stating that Lisa was given too much hope. That the hospitals should not be giving someone with her prognosis that kind of hope, how we aren't allowing people to die peacefully. Most of our healthcare spending happens in the last 6 months of a person's life. She was fighting a fight she couldn't have won, despite the treatments she was enduring. She ended her last days in pain.

I think Lisa accomplished what she set out to do. She garnered the attention of high profile media, she made her point clear and she raised over $175, 000 for her hospital. She raised important issues, and asked important questions (such as, why does Run For the Cure not feature or support women with stage IV metastatic breast cancer?).

A journalist named Xeni Jardin decided to go for a mammogram when she found out two of her friends had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She figured she would make use of her twitter following and use the hashtag #myfirstmammo to remind her followers how important it was to get checked. She live tweeted her experience (which started out quite hilariously):

Making jokes helped her get through what was a nervewracking first experience (as I imagine it can be for most women). What she didn't imagine she'd have to live-tweet out to her followers were the shocking results of her mammogram:

 How we are able to follow along with others in real time: learning their prognosis the moment they receive it and in Lisa's case, reading her final words just hours before she passes. I'm still not sure if I feel like I've invaded their privacy or if I feel lucky enough to be able to have been that close to someone I've never even met.

Surprisingly, I have received some questionable e-mails and comments due to things I have posted on my blog. I guess it's why this particular topic interested me so much. In reality, everyone has an opinion and not everyone is going to agree on your personal decisions. But that's the thing: it's our bodies. It's my blog. Lisa (and I, and any of you) can write and express what you want to. In the end, what you read is really your choice.

I remember once I said I wasn't going to write a cancer blog. How that was so not me. Somehow having cancer has given me a sense of purpose, though. Talking through it has made this process much easier. I understand Lisa's need to post her updates. It makes it public and makes it seem real. It helps you work out how you truly feel. I'm not sure how it will all add up, but it feels like every day things become a little more clear to me. The more cancer takes from me.. my eyebrows, my nails, my body, my hair... the less I look like myself, the more I feel like I'm learning who I really am (so cheeeeesy). When you don't have all of that to hide behind, you feel naked and stripped down. All that's left is you and your brain and your thoughts and your hobbies and your passions. All of the fluffy vain stuff can't matter to you: it can't define you anymore. And if you let it, you're destined to be miserable because trust me... this bloated, pale cancer body is no longer our standard of "beauty". I think that was important for me to realize, because I placed high standards on myself at one point in my life. Look a certain way, maintain a certain weight, touch up your roots, buy a new outfit every time you go out. In retrospect, it seems silly. When you get blindsided with something like cancer, it makes you wonder how you ever cared about those little things at all...

(Chipped nail polish still bothers me though).

xx

Sam


Find a bit of beauty in the world today. Share it. If you can't find it, create it. Some days this may be hard to do. Persevere. 

RIP Lisa.