Tag: cancer

To my mother

Posted on by Steph

Today is Mother’s Day, so it seems fitting to write about the woman I call Mom. (Actually, I call her “Mommy” because no one ever told me or my siblings that adults usually drop the extra “my“, until it was far too late for us to break that habit.)

This is my mom:

She still pretty much looks like this

I have always had a great relationship with my mom. I am lucky. Growing up, all my friends loved her and wanted to be around her. She was funny and kind of weird, in a good way. She was the “cool” mom. Of course, she embarrassed me from time to time, and still does. As all good mothers should.

My siblings and I are, and always have been, completely spoiled by my mother. There is no denying this. She will always drop whatever she is doing to help us with even the tiniest task. If we realize we are in need of something, she will likely show up with it the next day at our doorstep. She loves making us happy and doing things for us, even when we are all now (somewhat) capable adults. I have never known anyone as selfless as my mother, and I am fairly confident that most people who know her would agree with that statement.

The day I found out about the big fat C, I called my dad and told him to call my mom. I couldn’t stand to tell her myself, to give her that news that no parent expects to hear. To make her world fall apart, yet again, after dealing with so many health crises in my family over the past several years.

In typical mom fashion, she immediately started doing what she does best: taking care of me.

Throughout this whole ordeal, she has been there. Buying me a pretty notebook to bring to my appointments. Buying me an iPad upon realizing I needed way more than a notebook. Bringing us endless amounts of groceries and household supplies. Getting me fancy designer button-down pajamas to make it a little less depressing that I couldn’t raise my arms. Helping me get dressed. Holding my hair back while I threw up in the hospital. Sleeping on my couch after my surgery. Cooking dinner for us when we weren’t able to. Driving me all over the city. Listening to me agonize over decisions that could affect my survival. Rubbing my back and sitting by me while I cried in pain. And even today, bringing me some sort of futuristic cooling pillow to help with the hot flashes that keep me up all night.

My mom took me to one of my chemo treatments a few months ago for the first time. I didn’t think much about it because I had already been several times, and was used to the routine. It wasn’t until after that I thought to myself how strong my mother is. How hard it must be to sit and watch your daughter get hooked up to machines and witness as she slowly gets sick in front of your eyes. I think a lot of people would crumble in that situation. But not my mom. She got me settled, gave me lunch, refilled my water, talked when I wanted to and went silent when I didn’t. She did everything I needed her to do, putting all my needs ahead of hers. As she always has, for the past 28 years.

My mom is truly a wonder woman. It might take Mother’s Day for me to publicly express how wonderful she is. But I hope she knows that I am thankful for her each and every day, and always was, long before this cancer crept into our lives and gave us something new to tackle together.

I love you Mommy.

Sunny days

Posted on by Steph

This past winter was a particularly miserable one for the city of Toronto, where I live. Cold, windy, grey, and what appeared to be never-ending. I often felt as though the weather outside was mimicking my own misery and sickness. That spring would come as I started to emerge from the darkness. I realize it sounds very narcissistic, to believe that I somehow can control the weather. But sure enough, this past week as I started to heal from my latest surgery and as my mood began to lift, the sun came out, the tree buds bloomed, and everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief. We made it through the worst.

I made it through the worst.

I’ve been having quite a lot of, dare I say, fun the past few days. Friday I had my treatment, which ran just about as smoothly as that kind of thing can. Service in the chemo ward was top-notch, and I received multiple offers of pillows and apple juice. It was also fairly quiet, and no one around me appeared to be dying, which is always a nice bonus. Afterward, my mom and I met my sister and we got some frozen yogurt and went to the park and popped into a few boutiques. Then in the evening, the hubs and I went for a delicious dinner, where we sat on a patio, and relished the moment.  By the end of the day, I don’t think I even remembered that I had just had drugs injected into a vein near my neck a few hours earlier. Score.

Yesterday, I continued on my quest to be a normal young person in the city. After having a nice visit with my aunt, uncle, and little cousin (I am devouring my aunt’s butterscotch banana bread right now!) I had a nice walk through my neighbourhood and around the park and surrounding area. My feet ached from wearing terrible sandals. A regular person kind of ache. Not a chemo ache. There is a very, very big difference, and I was glad for it. Then at night, we went to see Iron Man 3.

Yesterday, getting ready for my date with Robert Downey (and my husband).
Yesterday, getting ready for my date with Robert Downey (and my husband).

I don’t know how to properly convey how excited I was to do something as simple as see a big blockbuster movie on its opening weekend. It has been a long time since I was able to do something like that. To be able to say I feel like doing this thing that many other people will be doing at the same time and then actually do it. It was amazing. Climbing the stairs up the large theatre was a bit of a challenge, but that was the only time I felt limited. I wore my wig, and from what I can tell, blended right in with the masses. Just another 20-something out on date night, watching a movie, wearing ridiculous 3D glasses. I enjoyed every second of it. I thought about how far special effects have come, and how watching a movie is one of my greatest simple pleasures. And I did not think about cancer. Explosions, and fast cars, and Gwyneth Paltrow’s abs. But not cancer.

Things are still difficult for me. My muscle and joint pain makes me feel as though I am a brittle old lady. When I sit down on the ground, it takes some serious problem solving to get myself back up. I am waking up each day, waiting for it to subside, but so far the pain is sticking around. I am also still wrestling with the emotional trauma from everything I have experienced. Sometimes it is these very moments, when I’m feeling happy and alive, that the fear creeps in. What if this doesn’t last too long? What if this is just a tease? What if I have a limited amount of happy, good days left, and then it all goes to shit? It is so hard to push these thoughts aside and it’s something I will have to work on. I don’t expect to have it all figured out anytime soon. But I’m trying.

I have my next phase of treatment approaching. I will go into more detail as it gets closer, but for now I don’t want to think about it for any longer than it takes me to type this sentence. I want to be young, and I want to play in the sun. So I’m going to go do that.

See ya.

Surgical tales, volume II

Posted on by Steph

It has been a few days since my surgery, and I’m happy to report that I made it through. Thanks to those who have written to me. I’ve been a bit slow on responding but I appreciate your concern and warm wishes. Thanks to Katie S. for that sweet hospital gown, and Tiffany for the nice tea, and Maytal for the lasagnas and banana bread (which made the hubs very happy as well), and the Rock-it Promo team for all the fun products and DVDs, and everyone else who has sent cards and nice things. Thank you!

The surgery went well, from what I can tell. I didn’t get to actually speak to my surgeon after I woke up, but I assume if something had gone terribly wrong, I would have been informed. I don’t remember too much, because the anesthetic tends to do strange things to your memory, which is probably for the best. I do recall crying like a baby when a nurse started my IV through my wrist. I’m not sure why she chose my wrist, but she poked me several times and the pain was way more severe than I expected. I was in the middle of talking to a surgical fellow, when I realized I was in pain. So I did what any normal adult woman would do, and I pulled the blanket over my head and sobbed. Lately I have realized that my hospital crying sessions are about a 50/50 mix of emotional and physical pain. The instant my brain receives the signal that I am again in pain, however small or fleeting it may be, I am overcome with the realization of how much my body has been attacked and how much I have gone through since finding that lump, and the sheer absurdity of the entire thing. The tears come more from exhaustion than from anything else. I am tired of the pain, I am tired of feeling like some sort of botched science experiment. The tears are just inevitable at this point, and I let them flow freely, as they wish.

I also remember the mask being lowered onto my face, which I do not enjoy, as I am highly claustrophobic. Upon realizing this, the kind anesthesiologist did his drug magic and gave me something to knock me out before the real knock out. I made a comment about how ugly the ceiling was and how there should be something more pleasant to stare at while you wait to lose consciousness, and then that’s the last I remember. Lights out.

I was not in the hospital very long this time around. I wanted to go home that evening, and I believe I said to the nurse, “Get me the eff out of this place.” So she got the approval for me to be discharged and I didn’t have to sleep in the hospital and hear the chemo machines beep all night. A sound which now triggers a queasy feeling inside whenever I hear it.

I’ve been doing well at home. As people had told me, the recovery for this surgery is definitely much easier than the first, which I’m very happy about. I was only on the heavy drugs for a couple days, and now the pain is tolerable with no drugs, as long as I don’t move around too much. I have my stupid surgical drains, which I hope to get removed by my home care nurse in the next couple days. If you have no idea what drains are, consider yourself lucky. Don’t google it. It’s about as gross as it sounds.

The weather finally seems to be getting a bit nicer outside. I went for a walk today. And by a walk, I mean a few steps out my door and then back. But I got to feel the sun for a bit, which was nice. It’s days like these that it’s best for me to stay away from social media, where everyone is making grand proclamations about their love of springtime and all the fun things they’re doing today. It’s hard to relate to everyone else when you have tubes hanging out of your body. Right now, I am most looking forward to getting clearance to take a bath. You don’t realize how wonderful something like taking a simple shower or bath is, until that privilege is taken away from you. The little things.

I don’t have a current photo to post because I am not feeling particularly photo-friendly at the moment. But posts that are all text are a bit boring, so I’ll leave you with this old photo of me. At some department store, in Paris, laughing over something that probably wasn’t all that funny. I hope to be doing this again sometime in the future.

 

Surgical tales

Posted on by Steph

As I mentioned in my vlog, I will be having surgery this coming Wednesday. Why am I having surgery? Well, to answer that question, we need to go back in time a bit. Let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we?

On October 19th, I had a bilateral mastectomy. In non-cancer terms, this means that both of my breasts were removed. Which was about as much fun as it sounds. I realize I never wrote about my surgery, since it happened prior to starting this blog. But it was quite a large piece of the fighting cancer puzzle, as this was when my ugly effing tumor was removed.

The decision to have the mastectomy was ultimately mine to make. Many women opt for a “lumpectomy”, where the tumor is surgically removed but the surrounding breast and tissue remain. Every situation is very different, and often complicated. The period of time spent making this decision was not an easy time in my life. I had just been given this bombshell of a diagnosis, was secretly running back and forth between work and hospital appointments, and had to wrap my head around the idea of losing my breasts, a month after I had celebrated my 28th birthday. To say I was overwhelmed would be an understatement. Looking back, I’m not even sure how I slept, or how I got dressed, or how I got up each day, without completely losing my shit. Every time I would go to the restroom while at work, I would touch my chest and feel the tumor. Yep, still there. It was real. And I wanted it out, as soon as possible.

After some thoughtful deliberation and research, and a bit of soul-searching, I decided I wanted to remove the entire breast on the tumor side. And if I was giving up one, I would send the other one packing as well. Although it was upsetting, I didn’t feel any great attachment to my breasts at that point. They were trying to kill me, after all. And I don’t respond too kindly to anything that threatens my life. So, bye bye boobies it was.

I’m not going to get overly detailed about the intricacies of the actual surgery or the weeks that followed. Waking up from that surgery was not easy. Breasts gone. Giant scars in their place. Surgical drains protruding from my skin. Lots of pain. I spent several days in the hospital, completely loopy and nauseous from the constant flow of pain meds through my veins. I can remember how angry I was that first week. When I was lucid enough to feel any emotion, it was anger. Accepting that I had been diagnosed with cancer was still new to me. And now I had no breasts and couldn’t get to the bathroom without help and couldn’t raise my arms. Nothing about any of it felt alright.

When a young resident came to check on me and we mentioned that the drugs they were giving me did not seem to be helping enough with the pain, she remarked in a condescending tone that it was not normal to be in as much pain as I was in. You might guess that I did not respond well to this type of comment, and you would be correct. I did not appreciate this doctor making me feel guilty for the pain I was feeling. Let me cut your boobs off and see how you like it, I might have said if I’d had any strength to even open my mouth at that point. I wanted to tear her blonde ponytail right off. It has been six months, and I still feel anger towards this woman, this stranger. For making me feel inadequate and weak a day after I had lost part of my body. She was a doctor. And a woman. A bit of compassion would have gone a very long way. Luckily, however, there were many other people who helped me get through it all, such as my husband, who slept on the hospital floor next to me for three nights. Not exactly the getaway we had hoped for as we approached our first wedding anniversary, but at least we were together. Nothing says romance like having your wife high on morphine and hearing screams coming from the rooms down the hall all night.

The weeks after were difficult, with many challenges (oh the irony of not being able to shave or wash my hair while I still actually had hair) but things got much easier as the days went by, and I healed well. Eventually I was raising my arms and getting back my strength and feeling almost normal again. Just in time to start chemo. And we all know how much fun that was!

This week, I go under the knife again for my reconstruction surgery. In other words, I’m getting some new boobs. For the past six months, I have had “expanders”, that were placed under my chest muscles at the same time my breast tissue was removed. Over the months, they were slowly “expanded”, like a balloon, with saline from a giant syringe needle. This was to stretch the skin to make room for the permanent implant. Although I have adjusted to having these weird turtle shells sitting on my chest, they are uncomfortable and tight and push on my ribs, and I won’t be sad to see them go. The implants should be more natural and more comfortable, which would be a welcome relief. (And if you’re wondering if I viewed this as my opportunity to have huge boobs, the answer is… No. Sorry to disappoint.)

I’m not sure how I feel about this upcoming surgery. I don’t really feel scared. I have been through so much. I don’t like the idea of being put to sleep again, and being cut again, and waking up in pain again. I would prefer not to be having surgery again and to get to enjoy the week and just have a break from it all, for a bit. That is what I’d like right now. But these days, I am not calling the shots. So I’ll  get dressed in yet another hideous hospital gown, do what they tell me to do, and let them “reconstruct” me and put me back together. As much as they can, that is. No new breasts will ever be able to replace the ones I lost. All that I’ve lost. But it’s a start.

Today.
Today.

 

Hold on for one more day

Posted on by Steph

This past Friday, I was once again a patron of the chemo ward. As you may or may not recall from previous posts, although I am technically done the chemotherapy part of my treatment, I still need to receive infusions every three weeks for one year. This is because I have an aggressive form of breast cancer, and there is an antibody that was created specifically to target this type of cancer. It has been referred to as “the most important advance in breast cancer therapy in 30 years.” Although it’s a bummer to have over a year of infusions, it’s a small price to pay to help increase the odds that I will be alive and kicking a few years from now. I am very grateful to be receiving this therapy, and to be part of a clinical trial involving another targeted drug. In conclusion, science is awesome.

My treatment this round went fairly smoothly. The only time I started to cry was when I was watching another young woman cry who was having trouble getting her IV started. I hate watching other people in pain. And despite the amazing nurses and staff at the hospital, the chemo ward can still be a fairly unsettling place to spend your time. Sometimes I see people who look as though they are about two steps from death’s door. I often feel like I don’t belong. Did someone make a mistake? Do I really have cancer? It still hits me like a punch in the gut sometimes. I don’t know if I will ever get used to being part of this world. I don’t think I want to get used to it.

I have been having some pretty severe muscle pains and stomach issues. But compared to how I usually feel right now during my chemo cycles, my energy is definitely about a million times better, as is my state of mind, so I’m very hopeful that the next year will not be as rough as the past several months have been. I am really praying that the worst is behind me.

Last week, my blog and I were featured on the website She Does The City. I am always very flattered every time someone contacts me asking if they can publish one of my posts or have me write something for them. When I first started this blog, I had no idea that it would spread the way it has or that it would actually create any type of impact. I have had many people write to me, telling me that I have helped them feel less alone while they are dealing with a cancer diagnosis, and these types of messages help give some sort of meaning to this absurd journey I have been on. Considering how isolated I have been, I have made so many connections with all sorts of people. Writing and having people urging me to write has truly been one of the only upshots of this experience. Something providing me with a purpose. So I suppose I should thank the internet, and modern day communication. And thank everyone who reads and reaches out to me and tells me I am doing something helpful during a very scary and very challenging time in my life.

Today I declared that I felt strong enough for some “cancer dancing” and danced around to  various cheesy songs until I felt that my limbs were about to fall off. I was bouncing around for about fifteen minutes, which is fifteen minutes longer than I could stand a few weeks ago. And I didn’t fall down, despite the pain in my legs. An insignificant event for most. A major accomplishment for little ol’ me.


That’s my sister with me in the video. What’s the point in embarrassing yourself if you can’t take someone else down with you? Also, the scarf on my head was forgotten by a friend at my house one night, accidentally. Moral of the story: if you leave something in my home, it will most likely end up on my head.

Brandi

Posted on by Steph

On Friday, I went to the ophthalmologist to try to get some answers concerning the many unfortunate things happening in and all around my poor eyes. It was confirmed that I have “severely” dry eyes, and something called blepharitis, which is the reason for my styes, itchiness, redness, grossness, and general discomfort. I was given many various things to put in my eyes to try to help and a new bedtime eye care ritual that is somewhat unpleasant. The doctor said it could take several months/half a year for the styes to clear up. When I asked, But how long until the constant watering of my eyes goes away, he replied, That will be for the rest of your life.

Chemotherapy, the gift that just keeps giving.

I am doing what I can do to get the situation under control and praying that the entire mess is not going to be chronic and as ridiculously dire as he made it sound. That is completely unacceptable to me, since I currently can’t do much of anything because of my stinking eyes. So we’ll see what happens. (Get it? We’ll “see” what happens? Never pass up an opportunity to make a pun, even if you have cancer and have learned your eyes might be damaged forever.)

Anyway. I’m going to now change to the subject of wigs. When I first learned I would be losing my hair, I wanted to make sure I had a wig that I could use to cover up my bald head. The second after I shave my head, I am putting on a wig and never taking it off, I said. Before starting chemo, I went to a few professional wig shops in the city and tried on some very expensive options (many good wigs can cost well over $1000). It wasn’t as fun as I had wanted it to be. The whole thing felt very strange. All the salespeople seemed to talk to me in this hushed voice. They looked at me with sad eyes, like I might die at any moment. The whole ordeal made me uncomfortable, as did spending so much money on something I didn’t even like all that much. I left each store without purchasing anything, thinking maybe I’d go back eventually. I never did.

After I lost my hair, I was surprised how comfortable I felt going out with just a hat or a scarf. I mean, I have cancer. I’m writing about it. It’s not a secret. I no longer felt the need to hide under fake hair. I was bald throughout most of my chemo, and felt okay about it, which surprised me. I still am amazed I posted photos of myself so freely on the internet, for all to see. If you had asked me if I would do that four months ago, I would have told you you were crazy. But I guess the hair loss made me a bit more confident, in some strange way.

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I missed out a bit on the whole wig part of chemo. Because being bald is fine, but sometimes it’s nice to pretend, just for a little bit. To feel and look like someone who isn’t sick. The more that my appearance has deteriorated with the cumulative effects of chemo, the more I understand that. And the more I miss having hair.

And so, I ordered a wig. Now that I am done with chemo. Which is a bit backwards, but I like to do things my own way. I also broke another rule by ordering it on the internet from some random wig site. This is something “wig experts” at the fancy boutiques will say not to do, because you can’t really tell how it will fit your head, or match your face. However, I am pretty good at figuring stuff out and doing research. So I read through some reviews and looked at some photos and finally settled on a style and colour that I thought might work. It was a good price for the quality, and most will be reimbursed via insurance, so I decided if I don’t like it or wear it only once, it doesn’t really matter. It gave me something to do, and something to be excited about, and possibly something to make me feel a tiny bit better during a low point in my cancer adventure. So that was enough for me.

Yesterday, my wig arrived. The wig’s name is “Brandi” and she is pretty sassy. When I put it on, it reminded me of my old hair. I started brushing it and it has been so long since I have brushed my hair, that I nearly cried. But I was having too much fun playing with Brandi to cry. Too much fun looking in the mirror and remembering what I used to look like. What life used to look like. And what it could look like again.

Ladies and gents: introducing, Brandi.

I am wearing sunglasses to protect my eyes. Or maybe my alter-ego Brandi is just so wild that she wears her sunglasses at night.

 

A few small steps

Posted on by Steph

I just went for a walk to get a sub. It took about 20 minutes total and my legs are burning as if I just ran across the country. When I think back about how far I used to walk, I can’t even imagine it now, but hopefully I will be able to build up some strength again eventually since my current physical state is probably close to that of a 90 year-old woman. All in good time. For now, I’m pretty impressed that I made it there and back and am still alive to tell the tale. Gold star for me.

I have been watching a bunch of TV, which is a good sign, because when I am at my worst, I don’t even have enough energy to to watch television. Which shows how much chemo destroys your ability to do even the laziest possible activity. I’m all caught up on The Vampire Diaries after falling behind for a bit and losing track of which ancient vampire was trying to kill which modern-day hybrid werewolf. I am aware that I am definitely older than the target demographic for this show, but lately all I want to watch are teen shows. I’m sure a psychologist would say it’s some sort of regression/coping mechanism, to avoid all of the very grown-up stuff I have to deal with daily. But I don’t think so. I just love shows made for 14 year-old girls. I have also been watching a ton of Felicity on DVD (thanks, Nicole!) since I somehow missed out on watching it as an actual teen. Very riveting stuff.

Felicity's big haircut.. such a dramatic moment in TV history
Felicity’s big haircut.. such a dramatic moment in TV history

I wanted to reply to each of the comments on my last couple of posts because they were all so thoughtful, but I felt anything I could say would not do justice to the kind words you left for me. I couldn’t believe all the love I got after sharing the sad state I was in. Honestly, if you are feeling down about humans and their ability to show compassion for each other, I urge you to go back and read through all the comments people leave here. I am so lucky to have so much support coming at me.

I am starting to feel better again, in terms of my mood and body pains and fatigue. Unfortunately, I just can’t seem to really catch a break, and my eye troubles have not let up. In fact, today, I counted seven little styes on one of my eyelids. I’ve lost count of how many I have had now since last week. I am not sure why it is happening as it does not seem to be a common cancer thing. I also have permanent teary eyes so it is hard for me to see most of the time. I have walked into a few walls. In short, I look like a mess. I am seeing an ophthalmologist on Friday so we’ll see what that brings. If they try to put anything in my eye, you will likely hear my screams wherever you are. After everything I have been through, I still feel squeamish at the idea of anyone or anything getting near my eye.

So with the eye troubles, I believe I have had every part of my body have some sort of issue. But it’s okay guys, it could be worse. I mean, my head could fall off. There’s always that.

My mom gave me this button.
My mom gave me this button.

An update

Posted on by Steph

Update on Steph for those who truly want to know the mundane details of my life right now. For those who prefer the happy dancing cool cancer chick moments, feel free to skip this one for now and I hope to provide some more of that soon enough.

-I’ve been ignoring most emails and phone calls. It’s nothing personal. I have very little energy and it’s been another rough week, probably the worst yet, and I’m finding it hard to talk to anyone right now. But as always, I appreciate the love so much and really really hope to have at least one or two friends after all of this.

-I have styes on my eyes. I’m sure Dr. Seuss would be able to make that into some sort of interesting storybook, but in reality, it’s not very exciting. Itchy. Red. Styes.

-My skin has turned grey. Not pale, but grey. I used to think being pale was kind of lame, but now grey takes the prize.

-I took a walk today. Spring has sprung. I’m still wearing a black hood with big sunglasses because I can’t really bear for anyone to see my face right now. I seem to get stares wherever I go. Sometimes I just want to shout at strangers on the street, I have cancer, it’s not contagious, get over it. I have come to realize how oblivious we all are to other people’s suffering. How we just walk by, stare, and ignore. I’m sure I have done it a hundred times. Now when I see someone who I think has cancer, I just want to hug them and cry and ask them to come to my home and build a fort with me and hide in it.

-I haven’t had a good sleep in a long time. Between my nightmares, body aches, hot flashes, and the raccoons that seem to enjoy scratching under the window, I can’t seem to make it through the night.

-I have collapsed into a puddle of tears on several occasions the past week. I’m not sure where it is all coming from, most likely exhaustion and the fact that I am almost completely cut off from the outside world and am in some form of pain most minutes of my day. In a moment of sobbing hysteria, I asked my husband if he could cover all the mirrors so I wouldn’t have to see myself anymore. It made me think of all the shiva houses I had been to when I was younger and how I would stare at the foggy mirrors. But I have no idea what people spray to fog the mirrors and am also far too vain to stop looking at myself, so my mirrors remain as they were.

-I watched The Princess Bride last night and it was the first thing in awhile that made me laugh, so thanks to Rob Reiner and all who were involved if you ever read my blog.

-I ate some beets today. Straight out of the jar. It’s a crazy, crazy life.

Things I’m grateful for today:

The sunshine
The comments people leave on this blog
Toast
Health insurance
The few eyebrow hairs I have left
Movies
My friend Rebecca who always says “that is so so shitty” whenever I describe the gross and weird things happening to me, instead of “it’s ok, you can do it!”
My friend Lily who buys way too many things for me
My good friends who check in on me constantly and stick around through the dark days
My husband who lets me soak through all his shirts with my tears and who tells me I’m pretty when I have styes on my eyes
My mother-in-law who sends me photos of rainbows
My parents who do everything
My siblings who are the only friends I see anymore
Everyone who sends me cards and nice things in the mail
The fact that I’m still here
Tomorrow

throwback thursday

Posted on by Steph

When you wake up one day
and big chunks of your hair are falling out
because you’ve had your first dose of chemotherapy
and your chest aches
and it is hard to move freely
because you’ve had your breasts removed
and you have ugly scars all over the place
and you know everything is about to get a lot worse
you can crawl into the corner and put a bag over your head and scream

or you can put on a really cheesy pop song
and dance really poorly
even though your plastic surgeon would probably not be too pleased

Sometimes, you just make a choice.