Life After Cancer: Research Studies And The Debate To Take Part Or Not

I realize the importance of research studies in the medical field and I am a big supporter of them.  During my treatment for leukemia I participated in a lot of them.  However, I have recently received a letter asking for my participation in another one and I keep going back and forth on what to do.

What is the study about?

The University of Minnesota in the Twin Cities, in cooperation with City of Hope in California, is conducting a two-year study for cancer survivors who received radiation therapy to the chest to study if the low dose of the study drug reduces the risk for Breast Cancer in those at risk due to radiation therapy.  Studies have found that "young women received radiation that included the chest area have anywhere from 2 times up to 20 to 55-times higher risk of developing breast cancer than the average women"(this information was taken from the packet that was sent to me in the mail).

As a young adult that received total body radiation therapy in preparation for a stem cell transplant after my leukemia relapsed, I am a candidate for this study.  Since I am mainly alive because other people took part in studies such as this, maybe even riskier, I have a hard time not participating since it can benefit many people in the future.

So why am I debating whether to take part or not?  The study is taking place at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.  As a current resident of Fargo, ND, that is quite the drive to make, which would need to be done several times throughout a 2 year basis.  The Twin Cities is no stranger to me. For over a 5 year time span I, along with my mom for the most part and on occasion my step-father or aunt, made hundreds of trips into the big city.  When I was first diagnosed with cancer I lived in a small town, Glenwood, MN, that most people only knew because of the huge beautiful Lake Minnewaska that spanned between two towns, Glenwood and Starbuck and the big summer event Wateramma.  This is about 2 hours away from Minneapolis (on a good day's drive).  For treatments and whenever there were complications while I was home, which seemed to happen frequently, Mom and I had to make this trip together, sometimes in separate vehicles with me in an ambulance and her trailing behind.  So we both grew well aware of the cost of having to go down and back, which was usually around $100 - $150, give or take some, because of the cots of gas, parking, and food.

Now I live even further away and even though my husband and I have pretty good jobs, we still have a lot of debt, especially student loans that eat up much of our income.  Also, due to current unforeseen circumstances arising, which is a whole new story and ridiculousness on its own, we have been trying to really reign back extra spending, especially since we are both getting really sick of apartment living and are more than ready to find a house to purchase so we can have our own space to do what we want.

However, even after all the mumbo jumbo above, I also had to think about other parts of the study and not just the money side of it.  Ever since my stem cell transplant nine years ago my body has decided that it hates everything.  I wish that was a dramatization but it really is not.  I seem to develop an allergic reaction of various sorts to every drug that I take.  We discovered this not long after the transplant when my body started rejecting one of the big anti-rejection drugs they like to give on top of every antibiotic.  Usually when there was a possible side effect from the drug that should only affect a small number of people, it would happen to me.  I was just that lucky, still am I guess.  I even developed side effects that they were unaware of for some of the medications I received.  The doctors and some nurses often said that I was really good at keeping everyone on their toes.

Thus, I looked through the possible side effects and thought about how they would affect me and make me feel.  Would the side effects cause issues with my work schedule?  Would it take away the days when I actually feel well?  Even though my stem cell transplant was nine years ago I still have lingering side effects from all of the treatment and complications that occurred during this time.  A story for another time.

Any who, after reading the papers a hundred times and thinking through expenses and everything and discussing it with the important people in my life, I decided against taking part in the study.  Was this ultimately the right thing to do?  Who could ever really know that?  However, receiving that study made me more aware that I need to be proactive about my health and make sure I am going to check ups and really watching for those risk factors that chemotherapy and full body radiation bring to the table.  I will have to start overcoming my discomfort of going to the doctor.  I guess I worry every time something seems wrong, other than when I feel like I have a cold or bronchitis, which is common for me, that it will be more than just an infection somewhere making me feel crummy, which is what I thought was going on when I relapsed, or when I feel an ache somewhere, which is like the first time when my hip hurt.  Both of those things started out as small issues that led to such a huge life changing diagnosis.  I know I am not the only cancer survivor  that worries every time something does not seem right and fear that they may hear those dreadful, life altering words again.  It is unfortunate that cancer treatments have such a high likelihood of causing other types of cancers to develop.

However, life continues on and you cannot waste time worrying what might come but instead enjoy the present and take things as they come.  There is no preparing yourself with potentially hearing those words again.  Even if you do they will catch you off guard as if you had never been familiar with those words before.  Of course, that is all easier said than done and sometimes a little bit of worry is important since it will push for you to find out what is really going on.  Not letting that worry take ahold of your life is the important part to remember and a part that I am always working on.

Lotza love!

Life After Cancer: Sick Days

After spending over 800 days in a hospital over a 5 year time period I will do anything in my power to avoid going to the ER or to see a doctor unless I feel that it is absolutely necessary, otherwise I like to stay away from them.  However, this past week I found myself spending way too much time in an ER room. 

One Saturday morning I woke up with a dull yet painful feeling in my chest when I breathed.  Not thinking too much about it I decided to carry on my day as usual even though I would have loved to crawl back under my nice warm covers and return to my peaceful slumber.  But, I made plans to head to the public library with my friend, Sable, which I was really looking forward to exploring some new adventures.  Yet as the day progressed, that dull pain I felt upon each breath increasingly grew.  By the time Sable and I decided that we needed to leave the library before bringing half of its contents home with us that pain was almost impossible to put out of my head.  After discussing the concern with her and my husband I decided that I would head to the walk-in clinic that was just across the street from our apartment.  From there the doctor decided that I should go to the ER since they were not sure what was going on but my blood pressure was sky high and my pulse was rapid.

After taking a few minutes to talk them down from calling an ambulance to take me to the ER and instead allow me to call my husband and have him drive me, I arrived at the ER where they hooked me up to an EKG and heart monitor and started running tests.  One of their main concerns given my medical history was a Pulmonary Embolism (PE), a blood clot that developed and traveled to my lungs.  In order to rule that out they drew blood and ran a d-dimer level, which shows clotting levels and can tell if the blood is clotting appropriately, and sent me for a CT scan with contrast, which they shot through my IV.  Seemed simple enough until the CT contrast blew out my vein with my IV and a majority of the contrast and saline gathered in a very small area on my arm and caused a large amount of pain and swelling.  Then they had to inject an antidote to help break down the contrast since it is usually excreted through the kidneys and the body does not know how to break down the contrast if it is not in the blood system.

After all of that, the only thing they could tell me was that I may be at the very beginning of a virus and if this was the case I just needed to take it easy, rest, and drink plenty of liquids and to come back if I developed a fever, the pain increased, or I was feeling short of breath.  After 4 hours in the ER I was finally released, not really knowing anything more than what I did when the day began, but in a bit more pain because of the CT contrast fiasco.  Little did I know that the fun part had yet commenced.

In addition to having an arm that was twice it’s normal size due to the IV CT contrast, I also broke out in a full body rash.  It seems that the more I am exposed to something, such as CT contrast or antibiotics, my body decides that it no longer wants to be a fan of that particular substance and rejects it by developing an allergy.  Apparently even my immune system is tired of being sick.  Every time I get sick I end up breaking out in a full body rash because of whatever medication they need to give me.  So far I have developed an allergy to every antibiotic that I have had to take more than once.  What is not to love about that?  Each day I felt a little more miserable until Tuesday night when the pain got so bad that I was unable to breath and my fever was not lowering after Tylenol.

Another trip to the ER!  Their concern was the same as Saturday, they were worried about blood clots so they wanted to run the same tests but did not want to do a CT since I had just had a CT recently and reacted badly to the contrast.  Thus, they decided to draw blood and get an X-Ray to see if there was any indication to send me for a CT.  After receiving the results form my blood tests they were more inclined to send me to CT because my clotting levels were elevated, indicating there could be a chance of a PE.  However, my blood tests also showed an increased creatine levels/kidneys functions, which signals impaired kidney functions and the contrast for the CT could cause further issues in addition to adding to my allergic reaction from the last time.  They decided that it would be better to perform the CT but would give me steroids and Benadryl to help fend off the reaction to the contrast.  In addition to loading me full of Benadryl, steroids, and fluids, they had to do something to help with the unbearable pain that had elevated my blood pressure and pulse once again, and relieved the pain by giving me an anti-inflammatory pain reliever called Toradol, which allowed me to finally breathe without wanting to cry.  This was a major improvement since Saturday.

The ending result was that they believed the membrane around my lungs was infected causing the pain when I inhaled.  This time they sent me home with a prescription for antibiotics and steroids that I was able to have filled at a machine in the ER lobby!  How cool is that!  My least favorite things is having to go to a pharmacy while feeling like a bag of crap.  This neat machine dispenses the prescriptions right there in the ER, eliminating the need to wake up the next day and drive to the pharmacy so I can be on my merry way of feeling like myself again.  Instead I could start on my path to wellness right then and there

Are these neat machines common?  This was my first experience with one and I must say that I am a HUGE fan!

All of this fun stuff started my path to finding a new doctor in my area.  The adventure of establishing a new primary physician and finding a new cardiologist who actually shows that he/she gives a damn about my health has begun. 

Life After Cancer: When Lungs Suck At Being Lungs

You know that feeling that occurs when you just sprinted for 200 yards?  Imagine feeling like that after going up a flight of stairs, or doing simple everyday chores such as laundry or dusting.  That is my world.  Some days are better than others and I am able to easily bound up the stairs to my apartment with ease.  However, most days I feel like I have fifty-pound weights on my ankles and a book bag on my back filled with bricks that leaves me winded before evening reaching the top of the stairs. 

Now imagine trying to actually work out when just the simplest daily activities feel like a workout all on their own. 

I feel my persistence in exercising in some form has allowed me to be where I am today.  Living with a progressive disease involving my heart and lungs that has not progressed much more than when I was initially diagnosed is amazing and rather confounding.  As to why my disease has not progressed a great deal is unknown.  The doctors like to believe it is because of the medication.  I like to believe it is because I actually like working out and try not to let the difficulty in breathing stop me from being active.  I enjoy going on walks, even though my stride may be shorter than typical, and I prefer to use the stairs when possible instead of the elevator, mostly because elevators freak me out but it is also great exercise.  Another contributing factor is that I really love Zumba, although I have a really hard time doing all the moves and mostly make up my own and making it through an entire workout without having to stop and catch my breath is tricky.  Yet, none of that stops me from making a fool out of myself every now and then.  That type of activity just has to be saved for those “good days”.

Another favorite activity for me is Yoga.  The nice thing about Yoga is that you get a work out in while learning and working on controlling your breathing.  This is one of the main reasons why Yoga has become my favorite activity.  It is generally something that I can do each day.  Lately though I have been rather lax about my routine.  Mostly because I am just getting over an infection regarding my lungs, which has just made everything seem even more difficult than previously.  After every illness it always takes several weeks to get back to feeling anywhere close to how I was before and each time I get frustrated from starting over and strengthening my lung capacity once again.  I tend to find myself working out less and being unmotivated to change the time spent moving around because after a certain point it is just tiring to even breathe and always feeling like you are out of breath really is not fun.  Now I am currently trying to get back in the habit of exercising each night as I did in the past but I am not finding that motivation needed to start up just yet.

I wish I could say that I just brush off the feelings of frustration for having to start from square one again and face the troubles head on, but admittedly I cannot.  However, it is something that I am learning to live with such faults both physically and mentally.  After all, there really is no other way of dealing with these issues since they are a part of my life and I can either let it bring me down or try to work around and deal with each instance as it comes.  I had a professor in undergraduate school that always told me to look at how far I had came from where I was several years earlier after relapsing.  I try to think of that when I am frustrated by all the set back and sometimes it help while other times it does not.  Sometimes you just have to let that frustration work its way out of your system anyways instead of trying to suppress those feelings.  It is healthier too, right?

What do you do when your lungs suck at being lungs and allow you to breath as needed and supply oxygen to your vital organs?  What ever you can to keep them and yourself going.  

Birthdays Are A Blessing

Some people freak out when they reach a certain age, more specifically for this post I am talking about turning 30.  I always wondered why.  Maybe they break down because they are not at the point in their life or they do not see themselves where they wanted to be when they turn a certain age.  I can not help but be reminded of the Friends episode when Rachael turns 30 and freaks out about it and starts thinking about where she wanted to be by the time she turned 30 and realizes that everything was going by quickly, or when Phoebe realized that she lost a whole year of her life because she thought her birth date was different than what she knew and she had not completed her list of things to do before turning 30.

As I am quickly approaching this age mark, August 29th (today, eek), I am not worried at all, nor do I worry that I am not at the point in my life in which I wanted to be by the time I turned 30.  

I have done a lot with my life before now and I have had a lot happen as well.  The one thing I think of right now is that reaching 30 is a blessing.

At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) and during treatment I almost died multiple times.  It was scary and all I could think was that I was too young for this and there is so much more I want and need to do in and with my life.  My other thought was that I could not leave my family like this.  So, I fought hard every day and night.  I made it through several more difficult times and was in remission.

Slowly, I started getting my life together and was enjoying it once more and appreciating all of those small things that mostly go unnoticed.  I decided to travel abroad and as much as I could, carpe diem, so to speak.

However, after signing up and making my deposit to travel to Morocco to ride camels in the Sahara Dessert and explore the world, I found out that my leukemia relapsed.

I was angry.  Mostly because I knew that the relapse meant more intense chemo and a bone marrow transplant, which were still rather new at that time.  Also, I knew that finding a marrow match was extremely difficult because of all the markers they had to match for it to be successful.  At this point I was unaware of stem cell transplants and how they worked, etc.  What I knew was that the fight was going to be longer and more difficult than the previous.

This round of treatment was even more dangerous because every cell has to be killed, all the good and the bad, more so than with my first instance.  I needed full body radiation to help kill all the marrow in my bones so that the new marrow, or in my case stem cells, could be injected to create a whole new marrow production, so new that it can and will change your blood type to which ever donor’s cell blood type happened to be.

This was dangerous and scary because without platelets there is no way to stop the bleeding if it were to happen, which did happen the first time going through treatment and was one reason I almost died that first time.  Also, without and immune system there is no way to fight off an infection, which also almost killed me the first time around as well.  But this time was even more intense and dangerous since I would have even less of an immune system, even less platelets, less blood cells.

I made it through the second time after fighting death several more times and being diagnosed with severe osteoporosis and a very rare, and when I say rare I mean rare, as in at that time only 5 people in the world having the same diagnosis/disease.  Pulmonary Veno-Occlusive Disease (PVOD), which does not have a very cheery prognosis.  Most of the people diagnosed with PVOD, or rather all since it was such a small number, only lived up to 5 years after diagnosis.  This disease, if you could not tell by the name, affects the heart and lungs and makes the heart work harder to pump blood through a person’s body and reduce the amount of oxygen received in lunges and other organs.  It is progressive disease causing harm to organs over the years, which is why survival rate is low.

Considering all I have been through medically, and everything I have done since, graduating with an undergraduate degree in Psychology and Human Services and receiving a minor in French, as well as studying abroad in both France and Morocco, also visiting Canada a few times and London, and traveling within the U.S. to Seattle, Florida, New York, Illinois, Nebraska, and all the states between Minnesota and Florida on an awesome road trip with 2 amazing friends to vacation on the ocean for 2 weeks; I really cannot complain about where I am in my life.

Thus, I feel achieved and hope that on my 30^th birthday in a few days I will not freak out about my age.  I am sure that it will be like any other day and I will mostly be happy for just being alive 8 years after being diagnosed with a progressive disease that has only a 5-year life expectancy after diagnosis.

All this feels like reason enough to not be worried about turning 30, but I guess I will not know until the day comes.  I guess no one does, which is why they tend to freak on their day of birth.

Books, How I Love Thee

I know I have not written lately.  I apologize.  It is not that I have not had anything to write about but more so that I have been so wrapped up in reading that when I have a free moment I have tended to pick up my book or Kindle rather than the computer and get lost in a whole different world.

Reading has always been one of my favorite past times.  One can never be bored while surrounded by books.  Also, I do not believe that you can ever spend too much time reading or have too many books, my husband may think otherwise after moving all my books into our new place.  I guess that is the unfortunate part of having a wife that can only lift up to 20 pounds; he has to do all the heavy lifting.

Reading was something that I used to escape from the world I lived in while stuck in a hospital room.  It allowed me to travel worlds previously unknown to me.

What better way to pass the time than to solve murder mysteries with Alex Cross (James Patterson) with each one of his page turning thrillers that grab you and keep you on your toes to the very last page while continuing to be completely wrong about who committed the crime.  Then learning about the life of young Fatima Mernissi (Dreams of Trespass: Tales of A Harem Girlhood) while growing up in a harem and dreaming of the world beyond the courtyard walls, which related to me wanting to know the world and the happenings outside my own walls.  Then adventuring On the Road with Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady through North America in addition to feeling as if I were infinite with Charlie, Sam and Patrick while driving through the tunnel in Perks of Being A Wallflower.

I may not have always remembered what I read further down the road while going through treatments for my leukemia, but for those moments while I was reading I was able to explore different places and escape the confining walls of my hospital room and the hospital itself.  Not only that, but in those relaxing times and for brief moments here and there I was able to forget about everything else that was going on around me.

 Lately I have been spending extra time reading and rereading some of the books I read in the past and really enjoyed.  Something that I have noticed is that books are being turned into movies left and right.  While I truly enjoy the watching these movies (The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, all of the Harry Potter films, and now the Divergent series, and The Mortal Instruments, and one of my favorite authors from the past couple years, John Green with his beautifully written novel, The Fault in Our Stars soon coming to theaters).  I cannot help but wonder if this is promoting reading of the books in anticipation of the films or if it is stopping people from picking up the book and spending time to read.

I have heard it both ways with some saying that they do not need to spend hours and/or days reading a book when they can spend just a couple hours watching the movie.  Others want to read the book first before seeing the film.  Those who have read the book before any notion of a movie feel conflicted that the movie will ruin their love of the book. Others, like me, try to keep them separate while watching and rating the movies but still tend to rate them together when suggesting whether someone should watch the film and/or read the book.

An example is Jodi Picoult's novel "My Sister's Keeper".  As usual Ms. Piccoult's writing is wonderful.  It tugs at your heartstrings and deals with controversial issues.  The movie adaptation is wonderful as well, but is very different from the book.  Not only does it leave out very important parts of the book but it also has a very different ending.  Thus, in my opinion, if you are going to watch the movie then you should also read the book because it will be a different experience than the movie.  Another big example is the Game of Thrones series on HBO.  Many people who watch the show do not read the books, which is a shame since there is a lot of things that are left out of the books.  It would be really hard for all the extra information to be put into that short series for each season/book.  The show really is great, but in my opinion are even better after reading the books.  

How do you feel?  Would you rather watch the movie or television series than read a book? Or, are you one who likes to do both?

Life After Cancer: Difficult Disease With A Difficult Doctor

When you are diagnosed with a difficult disease the last thing you want to have to deal with is a difficult doctor.

I currently have a doctor who is a cardiologist and is the worse doctor I have ever had, and that is really saying something since I have had many doctors, some that I did not like but did their job well. However, this one I do not like and does not do her job well, at least in my case. Yet, she is still my doctor. Why?

Upon many requests for another doctor, she remains to be my cardiologist.

The last time I was there for my follow-up visit and requested another doctor I got the same story, she is the only one who is qualified. Except this time after asking about getting a different cardiologist the intern studying under her decided to voice that it made her uncomfortable and that it felt awkward being asked this. As if it was not uncomfortable for me and awkward asking for a new doctor because I could not stand going to my appointments with her. She also responded with the fact that I only have to see her twice a year. I do not think that should matter. If my doctor is not providing the best care, or what I feel is the best care, should I not express that concern?

Do I not deserve to have a doctor that cares about my case enough to remember my history rather than telling me each time how important it is that I not become pregnant because it would be too dangerous for me, thus having me explain for the umpteenth time that I have already been through menopause due to complications from chemotherapy? More than that, do I not deserve a doctor that respects my time as I do theirs so that I do not spend 4-8 hours just sitting in a clinic waiting room unable to go anywhere because no one knows when she might get to my appointment?

I understand that things happen that make doctors run behind on their appointments, but I do not think that it is alright to make your patients waste their time sitting in a waiting room waiting for you to get to their appointment if it is going to be multiple hours. Update them so that they can do something with that time, such as finding something to eat. The worst part about waiting all those hours is that I maybe spend 20 minutes with the doctor before leaving. Yikes, that is a terrible ratio!

Why has it been so difficult to find a new cardiologist?

Complications from my stem cell transplant left me with a very rare and progressive heart and lung disease. At the time of my diagnosis there were only 5 people in the world who shared the disease, Pulmonary Veno-Occlusive Disease. It is a form of hypertension and is the occlusion or narrowing of the pulmonary veins and venules, similar to Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension. Due to the narrow, oxygenated blood is unable to circulate at a regular pace and can leave a person short of breath with the simplest amount of physical activity. Because of the pathology and lack of response to PAH therapy it gets its own classification. The prognosis for PVOD is not something that people like to hear. For most, the disease progresses very fast and patients are reported dying within 2 years of diagnosis.

I have been living with it for more than 2 years now and for the time being, or at least the last time I was able to see my doctor, the disease has not progressed a great deal. This has not been reported in other patients with the same diagnosis. What can I say, I am truly one of a kind. :)

Since the disease has so many unknowns, I have been a human guinea pig since being diagnosed.

This makes finding a new doctor even more difficult. Because the disease is so rare there are not a lot of doctors who know anything about it or how to deal with everything involved. But this doctor is so arrogant that she does not believe there to be anyone else available that can follow my case in any sort of way.

However, she is not doing a very good job of following my case either. Along with the large amounts of wasted time, she is also incredibly difficult to get a hold of. I am still waiting to get an appointment with her for my 6 month follow up visit; it has been 5 month since that visit was suppose to happen.

Why not make more waves? Demand a new doctor? Complain about the lack of response to phone calls. Don’t I deserve more? I know I deserve quality care, and I do not believe that I am getting that care. 

I had a nurse during my transplant that was so rude that I refused to let her back into my room and talked to the nurse manager that night about it, and actions were taken right away to ensure that she not be my nurse in the future. It takes a lot for me to request for someone to not come into contact with me, if that gives you any idea of how rude she was. However, replacing a doctor is not so easy, at least not in this case.

So how do I go about finding a new doctor? Even more, how do I find one that I can afford to visit. The other hard part about my current cardiologist is that she is several hours away, and now after moving even further from Minneapolis it is a longer distance. The costs of driving there, paying for parking, and eating meals adds up, especially since she is not the only doctor I have to visit down there and they can never coordinate the schedule so that the appointments line up.

There has got to be a way for long distance care, right? All the tests can be done closer to home and results sent to “the expert”, especially since the time spent with the cardiologist, or any of the others in her group, is very short and not worth the cost. If I felt like I was actually receiving care, then I might be more inclined to feel better about the situation However, upon leaving I know nothing more than I did before the appointment.

Have I been too nice? Not demanding enough? I try to be polite and respectful when asking about a new doctor, maybe I should be more demanding and less polite. This nice girl attitude has not gotten me anywhere with this group of cardiologists. But how do I advocate for myself, for my health, when I do not feel like I am being heard in the first place? I should not have to be someone I am not in order to have my voice heard.

How do you deal with difficult doctors? How do you make them see you as more than just a patient, but as a person who deserves their full attention? How do you get them to realize that they are not providing their best care even after telling them and asking for a new doctor because they do not seem to have your best interests in mind?

I guess it is time to roar a little bit louder.

Showing Emotion and Asking for Help: Why is it So Hard?

Why is it so hard for people to ask others for help when they need it? We try to tell ourselves that we are fine and that everything will be ok and things will pass even when we are not sure if that is true.

There were times during my cancer treatment when I knew that I needed someone to talk to and listen to what scared me. I needed someone who would not tell me that things would be fine and that I was strong and would push through everything. I needed someone who would allow me to be scared rather than tell me that I just needed to be strong and think positively. But I was unwilling to admit that I needed that help. It probably would have been beneficial for me to seek someone like a counselor to talk to, but for some reason I just could not accept that I needed that type of help.

Maybe it was because, as a cancer patient, I was already being looked at differently by all my friends and family members that I felt like I did not need one more person to give me that cancer patient look.

If we know we are in a state of depression, or just not feeling like ourselves, why are we afraid to acknowledge that feeling? Why are we more willing to let ourselves feel crummy instead of wanting to do something about our mood so that we feel more like ourselves than different and foreign?

Why is it so hard to ask for help when it is needed, especially when it revolves around mental health? What is wrong with showing fear? Uncertainty? Sadness? Anger? All those emotions that wash over people at any point in their life can intensify once they are exposed to the world revolved around treating cancer.

The person with cancer often gets overlooked and the main questions end up being asked about how the treatment and procedures are going rather than how you, as a person, are handling everything emotionally and mentally.

People tend to push for you to stay positive all the time, to keep your chin high, enforce the fact that you are strong and can get through this difficult time. As long as you stay positive you will make it through everything.

Why can I not scream out in anger when my body reacts to a drug and makes me itch like mad? Why is it wrong for me to be angry that my life has been interrupted by something that could kill me and prevent me from doing all the things that I grew up wanting to accomplish? Is it really normal for someone to be positive at every moment even after all the side effects from the chemotherapy and various drugs that accompanied the cocktail has made the body feel foreign to the owner?

Everything revolves around cancer, tests, treatments, procedures, etc. rather than the actual person.

It took me a long time to realize that it is OK to cry. That it does not make you less of a person for feeling some sort of emotion and allowing that to show on your face.

Life in general is not easy, it is not suppose to be, otherwise we would always get what we wanted and nothing would make us really work for those extra things we want and enjoy in life, right?  Also, it would probably be a little boring and I do not like boring. Instead I enjoy challenges and face them with as much strength and determination I posses. However, I never wanted something as challenging as cancer, nor would I have ever expected it to happen.

Maybe sometimes boring is good.

Growing up I was not one to cry in front of others. When I got upset and felt the urge of tears wanting to show my true feelings I would run away to be alone, secluding myself to deal with my feelings myself, rather than expressing them out loud. I thought that crying would make me look like a baby or a wimp and I was always trying to be a grown up and strong like my mom.

Since I only saw my mom cry on rare occasions, such as when we lost a beloved mare while she foaling, or when someone passed away, I assumed that was the only time worth crying. Of course there have been a few times in my 29 years on this planet where I have been super frustrated and stressed past my max where I broke down and did not care who was around me. But most of the time I would just try to take everything in with a positive attitude and let the world know that I was fine with whatever may come.

Yet, once I saw my mom enter my ER suite, and by suite I mean a curtained off area, crying I knew something more than just a pinched nerve was causing all the pain in my leg. But nothing prepared me for what I was to learn in the next 24 hours.

(For more information, please refer back to a previous post, Finding Out I had Cancer)

I knew that in order to live I would need to start chemotherapy right away, per doctor’s orders, so I obviously agreed, as did Mom, and we started right away. Also, I was so doped up that I could have agreed for them to harvest all my organs. Thus, it was a good thing my mom was there to make sure everything went the way it should.

Even after finding out that I had cancer I did not let myself cry. The only time I would cry was when I was in an extreme amount of pain. Maybe part of the reason was because I had no idea what was in store for me, because I also had no idea what leukemia was or how it was treated or anything about chemotherapy. But I did know that I needed to be strong and in various ways. I needed to have the strength of mind and my attitude to know that I could make it through the tough times ahead and not give up even in the rough periods. 

However, after several months in and out of the hospital, various complications from the drugs, zero energy and not being able to spend time with family and friends around the holidays made me so mad. During one of my short stays at home between consolidation treatments we had a family gathering with my grandma. This was just after being released from the hospital after a spinal tap, which did not heal right and I was left feeling absolutely miserable and unable to stand or sit up without being sick to my stomach with a pounding headache. I could not enjoy my time with my family at the dining table. Instead I had to remove myself and lay back down on the couch, which really bugged me.

At that point I just let it go and broke down. I was so sick of everything. Never feeling well, never having any energy to do anything, always feeling like I needed someone around me rather than being my independent self and just not knowing what to do with myself physically, emotionally, and mentally.

I felt better after releasing this emotion that I tried so hard to keep inside and away from others. All this energy that I spent to try to keep my emotions in tact just made everything more difficult. It was hard to try to stay positive about the whole situation when I was bottling up so much of everything.

Why did I feel the need to keep everything bottled up? Why could there not have been someone who would come in and visit with me while staying in the hospital to talk or listen to my concerns and feelings? Isn't mental health just as important in the battle as the drugs being given? 

I feel that with every diagnosis and every treatment protocol another step should be added to the process. Finding a professional who can speak with individuals dealing with various situations so that they do not feel so alone, so they can work through their thoughts and emotions and try to get a feeling of control back in their life. Just because someone says that they are dealing with everything fine and seem to be handling things with ease does not mean that they are not falling apart inside. 

Here is a thought for parting. One of the things I noticed when being admitted to the hospital was that they always asked me what religion I was and if I would like a chaplain to visit. Even upon saying no the question would come up again later or a chaplain would eventually stop by my room. Why is a chaplain easy to provide, even when unwanted, but a counselor, therapist, psychologist, etc., is not?