Cancer Dojo

https://medium.com/@leonjacobs/gamifying-the-battle-against-cancer-e9ecbb3f53c

DON'T SURVIVE CANCER. THRIVE CANCER.

From April 2013 to November 2014

To quote Lorde: "We will never be royal." We, the hoi polloi, have neither the birthright, heritage, endowment, press-coverage or Kate Middleton's hair to make a successful career in: Drawing Attention To Causes. We can't just hop on a plane to play soccer with underprivileged kids, in heels, to highlight global poverty. We can't ride a golden coach and, with a slow turn of a majestic, bejeweled hand, bring cognizance to global warming. We can't strip naked to raise awareness that what happens in Vegas certainly doesn't stay there. So what can we do? We the people. We who fill the hospital beds, we who battle cancer, we who struggle through Chemo, we who survive? What can your average Big C Joe do? We can thrive.

Yes we can write personal blogs, post pictures, share stories, #cancer and load our trollies with a hundred pink-ribbon products but nothing says Survive like Thrive. It's how we lend hope. How we spread optimism. How we shine that light so brightly that others can't miss it. When we thrive, we inspire. I'm not talking about an inspirational message with a photograph of a cat on your Facebook page. I don't see anyone reclaiming their lives because Sam the Siamese says to do so. To truly motivate you have to set out to actually do something. The week after I finished chemo, I decided that, in order to inspire others to believe, to know, to feel it in their aching Neulasta-injected bones, that there is not only life after Cancer and Chemo, there's A Life, that I would run a marathon. When it came to my Cancer experience I had a personal motto: Get through it and move on. I didn't just move on, I ran on, Kenyan style. 

Of course this did not happen overnight. My brother, my dog and I hit the trail that first week. It was not a glorious moment. I did not hear trumpets, there were no Katy Perry songs about my sports bra. My running comeback went about as well as Anthony Weiner's 2013 return to politics, embarrassingly dismal in a what the fuck are you thinking way. I managed a half mile, walking. Then I slept the rest of the day.

Writing allows me the benefit of time-travel and spares you the mundane training schedule I stuck to (on and off, with another reconstruction operation in between) for months. I worked on my strength, built endurance with snail-like slowness, ate as vegan as possible and always believed my little engine could. 

On November 2nd 2014 I ran the NYC marathon. 26.2 miles in 4h45. 

My aim had always been to run for those about to go through and come out of Cancer/Chemo. I always knew I'd blog about it, spread the word. But, just before the race, I had moment's misgiving that I was really just running for personal attention. I questioned my intent, was I narcissistically using my Cancer ala Lance Armstrong for personal glory? Now that the race is over, I can honestly say that, while I obviously received immense personal joy and gain from it, I genuinely ran as proof that we, as humans, are capable of so much more. Our bodies can be trained to overcome even the worst odds. There is a more noble reason why we physically push our bodies to the brink, and it is to validate human ability, endurance and spirit. I learnt this not from within, I learnt it reading the backs of my fellow runners.

So many people ran the marathon for a cause, in memory of, or for someone else. "I'm running for uncle Jack, 9/11". "I'm running for my mother/father/brother/sister". The messages were abundant and heart-breaking. I wondered: "Why run for the dead?" And then I understood. They weren't running for those passed, they were running for those living. A testament to survival. Thousands of these runners were running for the exact same reason I was. We are here to thrive.

You know that feeling when you’re almost in a car accident? A moment’s shock, a shake of your head at how short life is, the rest of the ride vowing to change everything wrong in your life. And then you get to work/school/wherever and all is forgotten. Things carry on exactly the same. It can be like that with Cancer.

When you have finished treatment and your Oncologist tells you that you’re the healthiest person she’s seen all week, things go back to normal. You can go days without thinking about Cancer, weeks even. And all those things you were going to do when you got well, fell by the wayside. You will not go live on a tropical Island. You will not quit your job. You will not hold up a boom box to your now married high school sweetheart and blast out Peter Gabriel. 

Life takes over. And it’s the same. It shouldn't be. 

Now I'm not insinuating that every cancer survivor should run a marathon. I think if I had known what those last 6 miles of pain, freezing wind, tornados of gatorade cups, banana-peel-covered roads and more pain would be like, I would have opted for a half-marathon. But here I am, having finished a marathon, living proof that we can. We can win. I am suggesting, prodding, provoking everyone to maximize their living and show those just diagnosed we can get better. We can get better than better. We can get greater. We can thrive. 

I wanted to just shout out to my dear friend Lex. She was the reason I finished this marathon. We ran together and she literally pulled me at some points. Thanks Lex, you are an inspiration to every mom who says: "Oh I just don't have the time." Check her incredible life out at http://iamfancypants.com

THE BLOG ABOUT NOTHING

I had my 6 month check up today. All clear, no present danger. If you are just coming out of chemo, trust me, you will get you back. It may not be the old you but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

At 6 months my hair is very thick. My Oncologist remarked that she doesn't know anyone whose hair has come back so thick. This would be amazing if it wasn't so curly. I have a full Jew-Fro. I look like George's girlfriend who looked like Seinfeld. Here, see for yourselves:

MOVING FORWARD

I am happy to let you all know that I am no X-Man. I shall not be dueling Wolverine anytime soon, although a bit of a feel-up and tumble with Mr Hugh Jackman, for art's sake only, would not be a hardship. I had my BRCA1 and 2 sequencing done (the test Angelina Jolie did) and it came back with no mutations detected. One less thing to worry about.

I also had my ovaries scanned and checked. All good there too. The lady did hand me the stick and ask if I wanted to insert it myself. No thanks. That would ruin masterbation for ever. Plus WTF?

My energy levels are up. I'm feeling almost close to almost normal. And now for the hair update...
It's been almost 5 months since stopping chemo and here's the latest.

MAKING LEMONADE OUT OF A BALD HEAD

It's now been exactly 3 months since I stopped chemo. I dyed my hair this morning thinking that if all the white fluff was brown; I would have hair. I forgot that I'm still mostly bald. So dying bald = still bald. 

HOUSTON: WE HAVE HAIR

I'm one week short of 3 months post Chemo and I can finally see some real hair growth progress. Unfortunately the hair growth is not limited to my head. My leg hairs, nose hairs and down-there-hairs have all begun to grow. It's like spring on my body. I might just sprout some Magnolias under my armpits. I have to admit not shaving, waxing, tweezing, lazering was the best part of Chemo. Now, if scientists could somehow harness the power of Chemo to just to the areas of hair we don't want, they'd find a cure for Cancer.

My wig still sits in my closet, never once worn, all forlorn. I'm not not a wig girl. I wear scarves when in company and go Godiva when I'm not. I'm so sick of these scarves. Nothing says Cancer Victim quite like a head scarf. I'm so weary of being blatantly stared at. I'm tired of that sad look people throw my way, the one that says "Poor you". And then I have to give them a wry, half smile to reassure them I don't mind their invasion, when all I want to do is give them the finger. Children are the worst transgressors. They have no shame. I was once in an elevator on the ground floor with my then 4-yr-old when an obese man stepped in and pushed 18. Floors 1 to 5 I was praying: "Please, please, please, please don't say anything." Floor 5: "Mommy why is that person so fat?". Floor 6: "Mommy why did you pinch me?". Floor 7 to 18 red-faced, please-let-me-disappear silence. To that man, I am deeply sorry. I know what it feels like to look different, to be starred at, pointed at. I know even though it's often children who are just being children, it still hurts like crap. And crushes. And makes you stay home rather than go out anywhere. 

When you are going through Chemo you really don't care. You are in a fight and all that matters is getting through. When you're coming out of the exhaustion and the draining psychological and physical 100 pound dumbbells on your shoulders are lifting, you suddenly care about how you look. So you check your head every day for new hairs, you count your eyelashes and scrutinize your eyebrows. They say a watched head never grows but I'm seeing progress. 

I went back to gym yesterday. Another milestone. I walked for 30 minutes at a snail's granddad's pace and thought I was going to faint. But I did it. And I'll go back today. For those just starting Chemo know this: you will get your life back. It doesn't happen overnight. It doesn't happen 3 months later. But it will happen. At least that's what I keep telling myself. 


For those who read this blog often or have followed it throughout, I have a feeling I might have repeated some of what I've just written. It's like deja write. But my chemo brain is worse than ever.   I was at Target yesterday and found myself staring at baby shampoo for 20 minutes wondering:"Why?". I still don't know. 

6 WEEKS AFTER CHEMO. IN PICTURES.

What my port looked like. 

Left with one lone, long eyelash. 

 Cancer = really, really expensive gifts from hubby. 

Elvis. My therapy dog. 

New Boobs. Swollen and bruised but looking good. 

6 weeks after Chemo. I have a fuzzy head.
And kids who can't stop rubbing my head like a genie.  

ONE MILLION DOLLARS AND A LASER SHARK FOR SOME HAIR

3 weeks from last chemo and I still look like Dr Evil's daughter. 

DONE

Apologies. I know I should have updated this blog sooner. As my dear friend Duckie pointed out my readers need a happy ending. You absolutely do. You have been wonderful, supportive, caring readers. You've left me messages of hope, encouragement and strength. I've survived this surfing on waves of positive vibes.

Here's the thing. Chemo has short circuited my cerebrum. This is about the 9th time I'm trying to write this. Words are not flowing freely. I mean "I've survived surfing on waves of positive vibes". Who writes that badly? Turns out I do. Me and aging hippies doing that free writing course in Haight-Ashbury.

My chemo fog is bad. Very, very, very bad. (Insert your own adverbial phrase please 'very' is all I can muster.) Please forgive me if my wit is witless, my sarcasm lost on myself and my sense of irony so literal that, unlike Alanis, it's not ironic, don't you think? Where were we? I have no idea.

I'm done with chemo. I had my last round just under 2 weeks ago. The usual side effects, plus some lovely new ones: My feet are constantly freezing cold, my finger nails look like crinkly potato chips and my skin has gone so thin that my temporary breasts have shifted to almost under my armpits. Attractive right?

But I'm done. So from here on I can focus on recovery and move on. I still have one more operation where they'll replace the afore mentioned underarm boils with Grade-A, Hollywood tittys. I'll also be on Tamoxifen for at least 5 years. Side effects include night sweats, hot flushes and mood swings. So it's essentially menopause. Great. 

I'm moving from cancer victim to cancer survivor. And that, my lovely, loyal readers, is the Happy Ending. I'm riding into the sunset with my bald head slathered in SPF100. Yeeeha.

DONE

I will be updating the blog from time to time to let you know how I'm doing and to post pictures of my slow growing hair.  

HAVING A BAD HAIR DAY.

HAIR UPDATE: 
As you can see there's not much to update. Funny thing is those hairs you see are actually new ones.  My hair is growing back, even through Chemo. But as my oncologist brutally said: "Don't get too excited, they'll also fall out." That's cancer summed up for you. Don't get too excited.