There is no short version today. There will be no song to share. I was hopeful that the symbolism of the new year would help me heal. 2022 was the hardest year of my life. But I guess 2023 might just take the cake.

Cancer broke me. My husband cheating on me shattered me.

Sometimes people pick words for the year. Most of the time they are positive affirmations but I am feeling pretty frisky and upset and want to say my word for 2023 is “betrayal.” It is a deep dive in understanding how deep a knife can go. In one of my most trusted relationships, my love has been abused and violated. In my body, I have been reminded of my mortality.

A few notes on the cheating scandal: I have chosen to be very open about it because I don’t want any rumors about it and it just seems easier than keeping people guessing. Jose cheated. I caught him texting another girl very explicit content that has rotted my brain. Like stuff I will not repeat on this platform. He denied it at first and through more conversation I learned it was intertwined with my cancer diagnosis and my inability to have a child right now (or maybe at all.) Damn. That is pretty low, dude. Way to kick a cancer patient while they are down!

That is literally the Spark Notes version because I have so little capacity to discuss it further. I only slept two hours last night. I have barely eaten today. I am weak, tired, and running on adrenaline. Cheating is literally the most unforgivable in my book. I have a weird history of triggering events involving cheating and honestly I would rather get bit by a snake than experience it. I am the most forgiving person you can meet and he violated the one thing that can cause me the most pain and to never look back. And blamed it on my cancer to boot. Nice.

Unfortunately, this is not a unique experience for folks (especially AYAs) experiencing cancer. Some people tap out and leave their partners behind when the going gets tough. Cancer in youth is tricky. It robs so many of us of fertility, time, energy, money, and vanity. We can sit here all day and pretend that some of those things don’t matter in relationships, but they do. So much for those vows in sickness and health we make, huh?

There is a part of me that can understand on some level the burden that comes with someone in a partnership who is battling cancer. It is painful to watch someone suffer. There are a lot of sacrifices made. But I also know you can choose to adapt and fight despite the circumstances or choose to see yourself as the victim. Jose chose the latter, saying that this has been so hard on him. I no longer fit with his vision of what he wants in life because I cannot give him a biological child (at this time or maybe ever.) Last time I checked he didn’t get poisoned, get his boobs cut off, or get attacked by his own cells but okay. Me surviving this shit is just a small consolation.

In this unlucky chain of events and several other events in my life, I am wholeheartedly convinced that all romantic relationships are temporary. Love is fleeting and I don’t think I believe in relationships to not be fucked in one way or another. Loyalty can be bought. Love is circumstantial. This is probably the depression talking, but this is how I am feeling right now, okay?

Also vows seem like a weird illusion we all want to cling to. They are nice in theory, but vows aren’t gatekeepers to surviving marriages. Respect and love are. Clearly my marriage was lacking both from the other party.

Time to rage.

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I finished radiation last Tuesday. Weird fatigue has settled in my body along with emotional confusion and distance. Christmas was hard to get into the mood for. I basically found myself going through the motions. Purrito has been really sick since the 23rd. That has been incredibly stressful. I am glad I am on vacation but this doesn’t even feel like a vacation because of how stressed I am about my cat.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Lately I have found myself wishing I was still in chemo. The only thing you can do during chemo is treatment. You shove your feelings so far down so your instinct to survive is all that drives you. You disassociate. You become a version of yourself that only exists when you feel death living in your body. Sometimes a feeling bubbles up and you’re forced to cry it out or scream at the body wash in your shower or shove it back down. You keep going. That is all you can do.

I am now at a standstill. I am not in chemo. Most of radiation is done. I cannot shove the feelings down anymore. They choke me, begging for some resolve but there is none. How do I cope with the numbness in my chest? How do I cope with feeling like an outcast? How do I cope with feeling like I am disgusting, unlovable, and a monster? I don’t. Being done with treatment is just the beginning of cancer. It is everything after that is hard.

There are impossible choices I know I need to make soon in my life. As a planner, I keep playing out those choices and their consequences. None of them have great outcomes making it nearly impossible for me to actually make a decision. People say they are there for you, but it feels like the support has dried up. I think everyone is exhausted of supporting me and at this point I am not really relatable unless you’ve actually gone through treatment, too. There is only so much support one can give before it becomes “too much.” I wish I could scream and tell people how not fine I am. I wish people could be in my head for a day so they could understand how I really feel. Survivorship has left me feeling out of touch and emotionally distant.

How is it I can crave connection but also blatantly ignore it in the form of texts and calls and messages from people? I don’t feel like talking about normal things and I also don’t feel like talking about how I live in existential dread, so really there is nothing to talk about it.

My cat is also really sick. The financial burden that comes with that is just about as heavy as the emotional burden. My cats are my kids. I have found that I am extremely triggered by the thought of cancer. Surprise, surprise! Friday we took Purrito to the vet because she was wheezing. In a nutshell (because honestly this story can get pretty long), she was showing signs of congestion so they did a radiograph, gave her an antibiotic injection, and some fluids. And of course it cost a fuck ton (almost as much as my out of pocket for my personal insurance for the year) but we took her home and they said give it a few days for the antibiotic to kick in.

Of course the holidays were this weekend but we tried to do our best to care for her. We got two humidifiers to help with her congestion and I bought special food to try to get her to eat. No luck. She got worse. This morning I took her back to the vet and they called and said that she has a fever and some sort of respiratory infection. Her radiograph results came in and showed her lungs and heart were infection-free, but her stomach lining was showing some inflammation. The vet mentioned the phrase “possible lymphoma” and I about lost my shit. My cat cannot have cancer. I am putting it out in the world that nobody else close to me can have cancer. I got so triggered. She said it was less likely, but for now we are treating her for dehydration, more antibiotics, and trying to get her to eat. She is at the vet for the day and my anxiety continues to rise as I anxiously wait for an update and my credit card bill to reach it’s limit.

I know some people might think is it fucked up that I am concerned with how much this is costing me. I love my cats. I will pay whatever to take care of them but I am not going to sit here and pretend that the financial burden doesn’t stress me the fuck out on top of my own medical bills. Like that is just dumb. Both of those feelings can coexist. I just want to be transparent with how stressful this situation is making me feel. I am stressed potato.

I also have been getting headaches about once a week for the last three weeks. This is especially notable for me because I essentially have been headache free since starting my hormone blocker injections in April. It is hard to explain the anxiety that comes with cancer. I am now convinced there is cancer in my brain because of the frequency of my headaches. I mean there probably isn’t but I am not going to rule it out. I wish I could just get a CT scan every month just to make sure nothing is growing where it shouldn’t be.

My lower back also has been hurting for the last few days. I think it is muscular but I have no idea. I cannot tell what kind of pain it is and it makes it so confusing and hard for me to answer when people ask if I think it is bone pain or muscle pain. I don’t know. I know I am an expert in my own body but I don’t know anymore.

This blog posts makes me feel like I am falling apart. I am, sort of.

In brighter news, the sun is out and is melting the snow. It is nice to see the sun. I’ve missed it. And I am done with part one of radiation. Oh and one of my nails is COMPLETELY normal! It is still a challenge to use my fingers but I look less scary now. Nailed it.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Taylor Swift.

“I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser
Midnights become my afternoons
When my depression works the graveyard shift
All of the people I’ve ghosted stand there in the room”

– Anti-Hero, Taylor Swift

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Tomorrow is my last day of getting fried! Well, at least on my chest. I got my schedule for my spine radiation so I have three treatments in early January to round out active treatment. I will see my oncologist on January 5 to go over labs and see what she she has to say for next steps. I celebrated 2 years on December 15 as a COVID long hauler (remember I still have parosmia!!) Yay for being chronically the illest.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

When were we taught or conditioned to believe that cancer mainly affects the “old?” I am getting sick of people telling me that I am “too young” to have cancer. It is a weird kind of pity when other cancer patients in the radiation waiting room size you up, their eyes getting bigger as they realize you do not look like the average patient. Everyone gets sad for you, as if your youth is a magical force field that has been interrupted and you’re just weirdly unlucky so they feel bad. I mean, wack genetics is bad luck but that isn’t the point. I don’t need the pity. It makes conversations awkward. Just say, “Damn that sucks.” But I also think even as we age it should not be something we accept as a consequence of getting old. Technically we are all constantly getting older and cancer can just pop up anytime. I am willing to bet cancer sucks at 53 years old, at 75 years old, and probably even 90 years old. Cancer fucking sucks all the time.

I can attest that once I was diagnosed, I was invited into a special cancer club where all the AYAs (adolescents and young adults) hung out and there are a fuck ton of us with cancer. I see fewer AYAs at the cancer center and most folks are probably 60+, but still. We are here and cancer doesn’t discriminate and young people are dying from cancer, too. Let’s work on dismantling that people are “too young” to get cancer and work to say, “Fuck cancer, nobody deserves this shit.” Rant over.

In other news, my last radiation treatment for my chest is TOMORROW! I will finally be at full glowing capacity and you potentially could use my armpit to heat up a chicken dinner. Radiation microwave joke? All jokes aside, the last week and a half of radiation has kind of started to suck. I have developed a tan that high school Madison would have been jealous of, except for the fact I am mismatched in color, itchy, tight, and peeling. Cancer is just SO glamorous! Fatigue has also set in. It isn’t the same fatigue as chemotherapy, but something more subtle. It feels like rainclouds creeping in for a summer thunderstorm. You see them in the distance and then suddenly it is just the whole sky. I am just waiting for some lightening at this point which will come in the form of something the radiologist called “blooming.”

“Blooming” is when you complete radiation treatment and suddenly your skin gets AWFUL, as if it has supercharged itself with all the radiation and erupts all at once into one big problem. This might look like extreme burning and irritation, skin peeling, and tanning. I am literally turning into cow leather. My flesh is so tender right now and I am in need of a long winter’s nap.

I wish radiation was over tomorrow forever, but I received my final three radiations schedule for January 3, 4, and 6. These radiations will take longer, at least 30 minutes, versus 10 minutes because they have to scan my spine twice and then administer the radiation for each section. (Before each treatment, a scan similar to a CT scan is done to ensure accuracy of treatment.) We will be radiating the L1 and T9 locations of my spine located in the lumbar and thoracic regions, respectively. I would recommend clicking on that link to see where exactly these sections are if you are not familiar with bone anatomy.

I mentioned last week I had a simulation scan for my spine and this time I didn’t get any new tattoos! Booooo! But I did lay on this weird bag like material that molded around my body when it was “inflated.” Honestly, I am not sure if it actually inflated or not, but it basically is like a little cocoon that I lay in and the radiation is administered above me and through my body to my spine. Fancy!

The treatment is a little different than my chest radiation. We will be using a radiotherapy called Stereotactic Body Radiation Therapy (SBRT). SBRT is a very precise form of radiation therapy that delivers high doses of radiation therapy in an incredibly targeted manner, in much higher doses. I found this excellent YouTube video that goes over SBRT that you can watch here. Oh and here is one more. It is a bit shorter but not nearly as in-depth. Watch it and come back. I will be waiting for you here.

Welcome back! Now that you are all educated up, you understand what is going to happen to me. These treatments will take place January 3, 4, and 6. I am not sure why they are not spacing me out every other day like they told me (and what you also heard from the videos) so I will have to ask that tomorrow when I see my non-assigned radiologist. Hopefully these will push me into NED (no evidence of disease) and I can be on my merry way. You can be told that you are NED but that doesn’t change my stage IV (potential) diagnosis (yet to be confirmed by my oncologist.) Once I am stage IV, I am that forever but can be NED for periods of time. Fascinating stuff.

Okay enough of the cancer bullshit. All I want for Christmas is to ring the damn radiation bell and my wish gets granted tomorrow. And I am going to ring it again when I finish SBRT because I am cool and the techs said I could do whatever I wanted.

The cancer center has been so festive and generous this season. I scored a free holiday wreath last week and today I took home a holiday egg ornament. I am not sure what it is or what it means or why we get eggs, but I am sure going to miss the daily freebies in the radiation section. I thought the free cheese was amazing in chemo but I sure do love these other goodies.

Of course these gifts are not a one-way street. I prepped 57 hot cocoa bombs this weekend with my mom to give to the rad staff and chemo nurses. At first I was just going to treat my rad techs, but I’ve gotten pretty chummy with the front desk gals. One even decided to call me “Madi.” Not sure why but it feels very nice to be liked and greeted so cheerfully every day. And then I was like well if the front desk gals get gifts, then my favorite rad nurses need one, too. But the rad nurses reminded me of the chemo nurses and I was like what the heck and before I knew it I had 57 people I needed to love on.

I need to stop making friends.

Anyway. Okay one more thought before I depart, I celebrated (not sure “celebrated” is the right term here…) two years as a COVID long hauler on December 15. Two years ago I got the OG COVID. I lost my smell and taste COMPLETELY for several months before my smell evolved into something evil: parosmia. This condition is basically a distortion of smell, making foods and liquids taste anything but how they should. At my worst, I could only eat eggs, pesto, plain pastas, potatoes, oatmeal, and a few fruits. Many foods tasted rancid, acidic (but not in a good way), rotten, chemically, or bland. They were flavors that I could barely explain to anyone unless they had the condition. Folks in the parosmia community just call it the “COVID smell.” It was emotionally and physically debilitating. It also was oddly taxing on relationships because I could not go out to eat and required a lot of accommodations.

At first, people were sympathetic and empathetic but it continued on and on and I could tell people thought I was lying the longer it dragged on. I wish I was not. Parosmia is pretty fucked up. And then I got cancer. I panicked up until my first chemo because I was worried I would not get the nutrition I needed to survive treatment. I was still eating a pretty repetitive diet and taking weird vitamins in hopes that something would shift in my condition. Up until my first chemo, I had not eaten meat in a year and a half. Then, after my first treatment, something shifted in me and I was able to consume meat. I had read that so many people experience shifts in smells and tastes with chemo for the worse that I was trying to emotionally prepare to regress once more with my condition. To my surprise, I actually improved!

I am not sure if the universe felt bad for me and threw me a bone or if chemo has special powers to help repair/rewire parosmia, but I was grateful that my parosmia improved. And I was even more grateful I got to keep my taste with chemo. It was a bright spot in a very dark nightmare.

Here I am, five months post chemotherapy and two years post infection and I am really happy that I can say I am 85% healed from parosmia. I still struggle with many vegetables, peanut butter, wine, coffee, chocolate, yogurt, sour cream, some cheeses, some meats, cereal, soda, and some other miscellaneous foods not tasting right. However, most of the foods I love are tasting pretty normal these days. Sometimes I struggle to identify flavors and harmonies in food when too many flavor experiences are present but I get to eat without fear now.

Small wins.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Bright Eyes.

“I’m not afraid of the future
Have to suffer and repeat
I tend to agree
What happens will be
Pain of my own making
Cut short by eternity

– Forced Convalescence, Bright Eyes

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I met with my assigned radiologist last Tuesday to go over the results of my MRI and next steps. I left Thursday for my ~chemomoon~ and returned late Monday night. I have FOUR more days of radiation left! I had a simulation today for my spine radiation (more on that in a bit) so treatment continues to move on at a rate of several WTFs an hour. A LOT has happened since my last blog post so buckle up and grab some popcorn to catch up on all the chisme (the hot goss in Spanish!)

TO THE (VERY) LONG VERSION!

CHEMOMOON! It came and went faster than I could have imagined. One minute I was counting down the minutes the plane would land and the next I was freezing my ass off in the truck driving home. “Why were you freezing Madison!?” Great question, imaginary questioner! But before I can start with the tale of chemomoon, we have to talk about my fucking dumb spine.

In case you forgot (or are joining this conversation late) I had an MRI per the request of my radiologist like three weeks ago. Or is it four now? Honestly, I don’t remember. Because of state law, I get notice of my MRI results once they are released in my handy dandy MyChart. Of course your girl looked while she was at work and of course she cried. All I saw was that lesions had shrunk which was consistent with metastatic disease aka breast cancer in my spine aka stage IV. My assigned radiologist only works part time so I didn’t get to hear her personal thoughts on my results until last Tuesday, a mere two days before I left for the grand ole chemomoon. In short, she said that based on my MRI results, she would call me stage IV. Now, my oncologist has yet to weigh in on these results (she basically gets the final say) and I won’t see her until January 5 but all signs are pointing at mets (slang for metastatic.) Maybe it’s metastataic, maybe it’s Maybelline!

The good news is that the lesions shrunk, consistent with chemo doing mad work to ctrl + alt + delete the cancer. The bad news is that chemo worked meaning oh yeah there was cancer there just hanging out causing havoc.

Cool cool cool cool cool.

I mean everything I do, I do ~eXtReMe~ so why shouldn’t cancer be any different?

Oh and she also gave me some special lotion for my skin because my skin is starting to do really funky things. I will include a photo next time I blog because I want to scare all of you. Today my skin is starting to change colors. Am I a radiation mood ring? Current mood: fuck cancer.

Thursday was day one of chemomoon. I should have seen the writing on the wall that weird things were about to happen this whole entire trip, but I really tried to ignore the signs. Before we left, I was still waiting for my Disney shirt that I had ordered to come in via USPS. By 1:30 pm, we knew we needed to get on the road and couldn’t wait any longer because it was starting to snow pretty heavily in the Tri-Cities. We went to WinCo really quick since Jose had to grab a few last minute items and as he got into the car, I saw USPS come by the house on our Nest doorbell! SCORE. We raced back home and I picked up the package, only to be disappointed that it was a different package. So we left again, but stopped to get food. Right as we were on the light to get on the highway, I got another doorbell video and guess what fucker was at my door again? USPS! At that point I was not sure if the package had been delivered or not, so we opted to leave. (I found out later it was indeed my t-shirt. I should have gone back.)

We got into Portland later than expected due to the weather and some weird construction. We ate a quick dinner at Deschutes Brewery, guzzled some beers, and sped off to the hotel to drop off our stuff. Our first chemomoon treat was a comedy show featuring Michael Rapaport. If you remember, we saw him a week after my first week of chemo in March in Spokane where Jose awkwardly told him in front of everyone I had cancer since he was making fun of me as the only one wearing a mask. This show was my redemption: no mask, but still cancerous! Our primary goal was to meet him so when we got to the show Jose slid into his DMs on Instagram and as luck would have it, he responded to Jose. We left right in the middle of the opening acts to visit him in the hallway. I could tell Jose was over the moon and we could finally check that off our list. Lit.

With our little hearts content, we slept soundly. Normally hotel sounds sometimes keep us up, but the beer and happiness must have lulled us both into deep slumbers. Friday came and it was time to head to the airport for a 10:30 am flight but damn I should have remembered the signs I saw that this trip would not be all sunshine and flowers. We went into the parking garage of our hotel and as I opened the door on my side Jose suddenly said, “What the fuck.” Okay so that is a common phrase for him and can mean anything: shoe untied, unexpected poop urge, or him forgetting something. Honestly, I wish it could have been one of those options because it turned out someone had shattered the window behind the driver seat and stolen some of Jose’s stuff in the truck. We were literally 2 hours away from leaving Portland and we were panicking! At that moment I needed an adult. WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO?

Luckily my anxiety med had kicked in by that point so I was able to think clearly but Jose was pure rage. We sped around desperately looking for a grocery store or gas station to buy plastic bags to put on the shattered window because we were leaving it at a different hotel for the nights we were gone. It was forecasted to rain the entire time we were gone. Would the truck get broken into again? Would it flood? It really sucked we had to just leave the mess behind but it started our trip on a very sour note. We made our flight and were able to leave the truck in secure parking (sadly outdoors) but damn it just felt like a dark cloud was hovering over us.

Los Angeles greeted us with warmth and palm trees and we stayed with my friend Max for the duration of the trip. It was my first trip to Los Angeles exclusively and Jose’s second. We were ready for good food and adventure! Friday night we had Korean BBQ which was deliciously expensive and Saturday we enjoyed the day wandering around downtown LA at the flower market and Santee Alley, basically a large flea market on steroids. Saturday was also more chill since we had the Kx5 set later that night and needed to conserve energy.

There was a mild panic in the back of my head because it was forecasted to rain the entire time at the concert and the event was outdoors at the LA Olympic coliseum. Luckily it didn’t start to pour until the set was done. BUT THE SET WAS SO AMAZING. The lights, the graphics and the music were incredible and hoping my chemobrain could retain the memories. It just felt one of those moments that I felt so alive. I loved that I could feel the bass pulse through my veins. I loved being surrounded by strangers in a crowd connected by music. The last (almost) three years (thanks to COVID and cancer… my two LEAST favorite “C” words) have been so hard. I so desperately wanted to grasp on to something normal and that moment felt like me in my early 20s, carefree and adventurous and living for the sake of creating moments and stories to share for years to come. Check, check, and check!

I just stood there in awe wondering how I got so lucky to be in that moment. I really tried to focus on being present as much as I could and ignore the fact that my feet were dead tired. Then the electricity in the venue went out randomly for 25 minutes mid-set. I seriously thought we were going to have to leave early. They eventually got it working again and played past curfew which was 11 pm. By 11:20, you could feel light rain sprinkles and by the time we made it out of the coliseum it was pouring. It took us a good hour after the event to get an Uber back to the house. That part really sucked and by then I was so tired I couldn’t sleep and had to wake up early for the grand finale: DISNEYLAND!

Disney as an adult is WAY more fun. I don’t get why people bring their kids. I know that seems really fucked up to say but like 9 year old me (the first time I went to Disney) didn’t get to appreciate everything this magical place has to offer. I get why articles said Disney was being ruined by millenials because we are looking for a good time and Disney has rides, alcohol, and Instagrammable features everywhere!

The day started off rough. It was POURING down rain. We raced to the Disney gift shoppe to buy me a Disney sweater (since my shirt was at home) and some ponchos. LITERALLY the moment we left the shoppe, the rain let up. I spent $44 on four fucking ponchos for no reason. I should have waited.

But of course the day got mostly better. I rode on every ride I had planned, ate three different kinds of churros, and laughed a ton. I learned I still hate Ferris wheels which makes me laugh. I can handle a roller coaster no problem but I can’t a fucking Ferris wheel. To be fair, I cannot handle a Ferris wheel container (sorry chemo brain right now… cannot remember the word I am looking for) that moves. It makes me sick. Oh and I lost my credit card in the middle of the day. (I filed it under lost and found and luckily they found it and are sending it to me via mail!) I got 20,000+ steps that day and we left the park at 9:30 pm with a gingerbread churro in-hand. There was so much food I didn’t get to sample and drinks I wanted to try. I guess I have to come back. Tehehe. You can see a reel summary of my trip here.

I don’t want to dwell too much on this again but the ride home from Portland was fucking awful with the shattered window. We tried to cover it up but the high speeds kept ripping the bags off the window (even with tape!) so we rode home with it exposed. It was fucking cold even with my coat and beanie on. There was freezing fog in spots, rain in others, and a dark mood of sadness. Aside from those mishaps and the weather, it was a memorable trip and one that makes me want to travel more again soon.

Do I recommend chemomoon to cancer patients? Yes. The sense of power that comes with celebrating completing aspects of cancer treatment is irreplaceable. It feels like taking a part of life back. It feels like control. IT feels like a big middle finger to the fuckery in my body. Cancer??? NOT ON MY WATCH. Nothing is guaranteed in this life. And with my impending stage IV diagnosis, it just feels more imperative to do the things I really want to do and cut out the bullshit. Treatment has given me time on this earth to live and life is for the living.

And I so desperately want to live.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Kx5.

“The memory of you won’t let me go
It’s there on the shore letting me know
The further you get, the closer I am
To finding a place I understand

Where will I feel alive?
Alive
Where will I feel alive?
Alive”

– Alive (feat. The Moth & The Flame), Kx5, deadmau5, Kaskade, The Moth & The Flame

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I am celebrating four months post chemo! It is a milestone I never thought would come. I am also approaching three months post surgery next week. And we are two months away from my one year cancerversary. Time to celebrate that I still exist (for now)!

I leave on Thursday for my chemomoon to California to celebrate surviving chemo. I was hoping to be done with radiation as well, but close enough. But before I get to have fun I have to do four radiation treatments, see my radiologist on Tuesday (and hear her thoughts on my MRI), and get a fat Zoladex injection Thursday. Ain’t no rest for the wicked.

Oh and my two year COVID anniversary is on December 15. Guess who is still a COVID long hauler? THIS BITCH!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

It is truly ironic that my body is capable of having so many fucking hot flashes given how cold it is. If I dare to wear a sweater and a coat in the car with the heater on, I will burn up. It turns into a never ending hot flash. I have to literally roll down the window, shed a layer or two, or turn on the A/C to control the imaginary hell boiling inside of me. Menopause is some fucked up shit. How lucky I am to get to experience it for the next five years, all thanks to my monthly stomach injection.

Now, menopause isn’t all that terrible. Just kidding. It is terrible. However, there is one small upside: I no longer get headaches or migraines. Seriously. It would appear that 99% of my head pain was attributed to my hormones! Now if I do get a headache it is generally mild, doesn’t last very long, and seems to be connected to a lack of hydration or sleep. My body is incredible.

Of course I traded head pain for burning up internally several times a day for short periods of time, but it’s fine. This is fine.

Of course hot flashes are not my only symptom of menopause. This may be too much information but you can also look forward to your vagina drying up (like no moisture… at all) like a clam washed up on low tide with no water in sight. It also makes me moody, but luckily I can counteract my mood issues with my anxiety medication. Basically, when you get cancer you have to take meds to help you endure treatment and then you take more meds to help with the side effects of those meds.

My body is special though. I am only taking three meds right now: metoprolol for my racing heart (thanks, chemo!), cymbalta for anxiety/depression, and gabapentin to help control my hot flashes when I sleep. Gabapentin is my absolute favorite. I know some folks have weird reactions to it, but thank goodness not me. I sleep so well with it.

When I finish radiation, I have to start taking my new hormone medication anastrozole. It is a daily estrogen blocker that I have heard nothing but fucking awful things about. If you remember, my cancer eats estrogen for breakfast so the goal is to remove as much of that hormone as possible so that the cancer doesn’t have anything to thrive off. I am literally not excited to start this medication because this drug can cause the following side effects: weakness; headache; hot flashes; sweating; stomach pain; nausea; vomiting; loss of appetite; constipation; diarrhea; heartburn; weight gain; joint pain; bone pain; muscle pain; breast pain; mood changes; depression; difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep; nervousness; dizziness; vaginal bleeding; vaginal dryness or irritation; pain, burning, or tingling in the hands or feet; dry mouth; hair thinning. Anastrozole may cause or worsen osteoporosis. It can decrease the density of your bones and increase the chance of broken bones and fractures.

Fuck. Me.

Okay I am about to say something really fucked up. This is the only time I have wished that my cancer was triple negative because that would mean it would have nothing to do with hormones. Half of those things on the list I already struggle with and this pill I have to take (it is non-negotiable) is going to amplify and potentially create more problems for me. Will I have to take more pills to counteract this pill?

I do know that twice a year I will have to get infusions to address the osteoporosis issue. I don’t know when that will start. My oncologist briefly mentioned that last time we hung out. Okay, I literally just wrote “hung out” and I am not going to correct myself because that is funny. I spend so much time at the cancer center that I guess hanging out is correct?

The everyday challenges of being a cancer patient / entering survivorship are heavy. Surviving is the goal but sometimes it doesn’t feel like a reward when you have to sacrifice everything about yourself in order to *hopfeully* live. Cancer doesn’t end when active treatment ends. And in my case, I don’t think my journey with cancer has an end. I celebrate what I can, but I grieve the rest.

Am I glad to be alive? Yes. Do I feel alive? Sometimes. I feel like all the trauma I chose to shove down during treatment is starting to bubble up. It is emerging from the depths of hell saying, “HELLOOOOOO. TIME TO DEAL WITH ME!” And I really don’t want to. I am barely getting my act together. Can I just pretend I am normal for a little longer?

So I will shove those thoughts down a little longer so I can go on my trip to Los Angeles and have a grand time. Here is my tentative agenda: Thursday drive down to Portland, Oregon and have a tasty little dinner at Deschutes Brewery; fly out of Portland Friday morning; eat a shit ton in LA Friday and Saturday; Saturday night see the Kaskade/Deadmau5 set; Sunday enjoy Disneyland; Monday fly back to Portland and drive home.

It is a whirlwind of activities in a small amount of time but I am excited to get away from the snow that is currently falling outside and remember what it is like to live.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Kaskade and Deadmau5.

“Add to the memory you keep
Remember when you fall asleep
Hold to the love that you know
You don’t have to give up to let go
To let go
To let go”

– I Remember, Kaskade, Deadmau5

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I am officially halfway done with radiation! I hit round 14 on Wednesday. For some reason I thought round 14 would be tomorrow (Monday, November 28) but I miscounted. Math is hard. The trauma of what I have been through is finally sinking in and I now have a stress fracture on my right foot, just in time for my LA trip that requires a lot of walking and activities. This is the second time in the past two years I have had a stress fracture in my right foot. What gives?!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

I work with some very giving individuals. I think it was five or six years ago, a group of us started adopting families for Christmas. Every year, I reach out to my contact at Domestic Violence Services to get our information submitted for our family but this year it has not been front of mind for me. I have dropped the ball. I sent an email to the group apologizing and asked if folks would either like to skip this year or maybe go another route like reaching out to the schools to find a kid or two to bless or maybe donate food to the humane society. Most of the folks on the thread were out on Thanksgiving break, but someone responded and expressed interest in one of the suggested ways to give back this year and sent the following message with support of giving back this season. *Note: This message was crafted by Ryan Dowd, a training resource we use for educating staff on how to deal with folks experiencing homelessness in the library. It does contain religious undertones, so feel free to replace that lens with whatever lens you’d like.

I love Thanksgiving! But… I try really hard not to be grateful for what I have. You might think that someone who has worked in a homeless shelter most of his life (and who has witnessed crushing poverty in multiple African countries) would be especially grateful that he lives in neither a homeless shelter nor an African slum. And I am grateful, but I try not to be.

I try not to be merely grateful. It is very easy for gratitude to replace action. It is very easy for gratitude to become an end rather than a beginning. There is nothing wrong with gratitude that leads a person to action on behalf of others. Unfortunately, we often seek gratitude for its own sake. There is nothing inherently good or worthy about gratitude that does not cause us to help someone else. My only response to the misfortunes of others cannot be gratitude that I am not them. I try especially hard not to be grateful to God for the blessings in my life. I have spent too much time with people in shelters and slums to think that God gave me a beautiful wife, two healthy children, a law degree, and a steady job while giving others homelessness, malaria, schizophrenia, and cancer.

We often treat gratitude like a burnt offering: something that drifts up to heaven and pleases God for its own sake but doesn’t fundamentally change the conditions on this earth. It supposedly atones for a multitude of sins, but by itself it does nothing to rectify them. Maybe the God who created the trees and the birds and the very earth where slums and shelters sit wants more than my gratitude. God did not build the slums and the shelters. We did. And it is we who will have to unbuild them.

So, my prescription for this season of giving thanks is to embrace the joys in your life with humble gratitude. But, immediately after you feel gratitude, you should feel angst—angst at a world that falls short of its potential. The angst is more important than the gratitude that precedes it. Angst coupled with hope is capable of birthing both today’s miracles and tomorrow’s justice. Or, more simply put: Be grateful, then go change the world.

Ryan Dowd

I am struggling with the feeling of gratitude this season because of my cancer diagnosis. Fuck this shit. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it. I did everything “right” or so I thought and it didn’t matter. What did I do for this to be my reality at 30 years old? It has turned my life upside down in ways that I feel like have ruined aspects of my life. I am not part of the toxic positivity crew, but I genuinely have tried to find things along the way to be grateful for like the cancer club I am a part of that I never wish I had membership to. And my cats. And the friends who have chosen to ride this wave with me. And my family. And I am still here, a painful guilt (and angst!) I have experienced this year as three people in my life have passed away from cancer.

I was initially plagued with the question “Why me?” when I was diagnosed. We all want to know. It isn’t enough to know that my cells are little fuck ups. That question pops up less and less now the further I get into treatment. It has been replaced with acceptance in that I have learned that even if I knew why, it wouldn’t help me. I still have rough days, and they are starting to manifest differently as I begin to look at the trauma I so carefully pushed aside during treatment so I could attempt to survive. Those traumas are heavy and the weight they carry is suffocating at times. How do I make space for gratitude when I sometimes feel like there isn’t much I want to be grateful for? When I do feel gratitude, what do I do with that feeling?

When I read that message from Ryan Dowd, it felt like the words I needed to hear. I am giving myself the grace of taking the time and space to mourn those moments I cannot bring myself to count my blessings (and rightfully so), but on the days that I do, I don’t want it to be enough for me to be just grateful. I like that Ryan calls to honor those feelings in action. I see the richness in my life and I know that there is always enough in my cup to share with others.

On Wednesday, I tried to be a recipient of gratitude in action. During my radiation appointment, I was snooping around the free stuff table and there were some new gifts: cute pink holiday boxes and pink bags with necklaces and candy inside. Oh and more crocheted hats. There are always hats. I took note to grab some treats on the way out. When I came back, the waiting room was full and I awkwardly took a pink box that turned out to have a Mary Kay night cream and some teas inside with shitty yellow candy. I almost grabbed a necklace bag but I felt greedy and didn’t know if I would actually wear it. I just am attracted to free stuff (as we all know with the oatmeal and cheese.)

I also scored myself a free Costco pumpkin pie! Nothing tastes better than free pie! Is that the upside of cancer treatment? Getting free food? Is that what I am truly grateful for? It had a cute sticker message on the pie: “Wishing you strength and peace this Thanksgiving and holiday season, along with good food to fill your table, good times with family and friends, and a path to heath as you fight to beat back cancer. May joy and hope be with you always!” Aw, how sweet. Knowing I might have cancer stuff going on for the rest of my life, I could get used to free pie.

I know I mentioned some traumas I am processing and soon I might be able to put that into written language for you all. Mostly I am struggling with the changes in my body and my future. What’s new? And now I have a stress fracture in my foot. You might be wondering why I think that without going to the doctor. Well, I had my first run in with a stress fracture May 2020. I was running a lot, like so much so that I was interested in investing in nicer running shoes. The day they came in the mail, I tied those suckers up SO hard that I ended up getting a stress fracture on the top of my foot! For about a year, I struggled with running and it was pretty uncomfortable.

This time around, I am not sure how I got it. I went to Body Pump on Thursday and Friday I ran Badger Mountain. Saturday I noticed the pain in my foot except it is located on the right side of my foot, an unmistakable pain that instantly reminded me of my first fracture. Is this a product of me making a silly mistake again? Or is this a product of my weakened bones? Either way, I am fucked. It makes me limp and it is wildly uncomfortable, even more so than the first time I had it. My friend in LA wants me to go get it checked out so I can get cleared for wheelchair use and then skip all the lines at Disney. Don’t judge us.

For now, I am icing my foot and trying to rest it. No more cardio for me for a while. Lame.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Bon Jovi.

“Woah, we’re half way there
Woah, livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear
Woah, livin’ on a prayer”

– Livin’ on a Prayer, Bon Jovi

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Another week down of radiation! I passed the quarter of the way mark for treatment. Next Monday I will hit the halfway mark! I also had an MRI on my spine to look at the pesky lesions once more last Wednesday and received results the next day. Although today is Sunday, I had a special session of radiation since it is a holiday week. I was asked if I wanted to shave a day off the end of my treatment by coming in today and I said, “heck yes!” I brought the techs some cheese, fig spread, and crackers as a thank you for serving patients today. My techs are growing on me. *Gasp* But don’t worry, the chemo nurses still have my heart.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

I am a creature of habit. Routine is my favorite because it implies stability. Maybe that is why I have found some comfort in both chemo and radiation, or as much comfort as one can find while getting poisoned. You know your schedule, it is the same folks, and you do the same things over and over again. Radiation is even more repetitive and although it is a pain in my ass to drive every single fucking day to the cancer center, I am greeted by staff who are starting to remember me and crack jokes.

I also have a new habit of picking the same locker every single day. We have a little changing area, a la high school gym lockers, except less smelly and not in a high school. And way nicer. And there are no people bullying you. Okay, so nothing like a high school gym locker but it sort of reminded me of that, okay? I always pick locker #2. There are ten lockers to choose from, all with a key and a stretchy bracelet attached. I like this locker because the bracelet is pink. Keeping with the same number also helps my chemo brain. Even if I did forget, there are only so many of us there at the same time and I am sure it would just be a matter of a process of elimination. Ah, I am glad some things about myself have not changed.

From here on out, my radiation time will be at 9:45 am every day. My new last day of chemo is now December 19. Now, normally Tuesdays patients see the radiologist after treatment but mine was moved to today for some reason. But before I get into that appointment, we have to talk about my MRI.

Okay, so timeline: February 21, 2022 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I started chemo March 17 and sometime between that period of time I had scans done to learn more about where the cancer was and how big it was. During those scans, we saw some tiny specks on my spine. My oncologist had told me if it was cancer, the chemo would kick it. Fast forward to scans I did in August (or was it July? I honestly cannot remember at this point) and the specks had grown. Not cool and also not consistent with cancer given my other tumors had shrunk. And now we are at present day and the radiologist had ordered two types of MRIs on my spine: thoracic and lumbar. She wanted a better look to see exactly where we might be radiating.

Now the MRI for the most part was uneventful. It was at the hospital, the MRI tech seemed bored out of his mind, and didn’t seem into my jokes so I really tried to keep the small talk to a minimum. I chose EDM once again for my music of choice and learned that music just seems fucking pointless during an MRI because the machine is so fucking loud. I ended up playing mind games with myself during my MRI to guess what song was playing and then being totally surprised between loud sounds to learn that my guesses were always wrong. I also learned that wearing a suede top to a non contrast MRI is a poor choice when you are in menopause. Basically it was a nonstop 30 minute hot flash and I could not fucking move. I hated it and I hate menopause.

Thursday around 10 am I got my results. Of course I am always at work when I get results and I read them like an idiot hoping that the news I consume doesn’t end with me in tears. This time was no exception. Here is what my reports read:

1. Significant decrease in size of the lesion within L1 with change in signal characteristics within the L1, L3, and L4 lesions. This examination was performed without IV contrast, which limits the ability to assess for metastatic disease; however, given the change over time in the setting of breast cancer, I favor this to represent treatment effect on metastatic lesions. No new or worsening lesions are appreciated on STIR imaging. If there is continued clinical concern for metastasis, or further imaging is desired, a contrast enhanced examination or PET-CT could be considered for further evaluation. 2. The described lesion in the T9 vertebral body on prior CT correlates to a tiny focus of T1 and T2 hypointensity without visibility on STIR sequences. This follows a similar pattern as the lesions in the lumbar spine, and I suspect this represents treatment effect within a metastatic lesion. 3. No new or enlarging osseous metastases or appreciated soft tissue metastases are seen on this study, allowing for the absence of IV contrast. 4. Minimal degenerative changes of the lumbar spine with no high-grade central or foraminal stenosis appreciated.

I will spare you the Googling and decipher the doctor speak for you because I also got to see my scans today (both previous and recent.) Essentially all spots we have seen on prior imaging have shrunk and no new lesions have decided to fuck around and find out. This means that chemotherapy worked! Why the lesions did not shrink until now is a mystery that I could ask my oncologist about later. But the fact that they shrunk is consistent with metastasis aka cancer aka stage IV breast cancer.

Now, my assigned radiologist is out right now so I am meeting with her peer. She is nice, but not super familiar with my case. She was cool though and we looked at the scans today and I asked her if this means stage IV and she said that she would share the results with my other radiologist and oncologist so that they can discuss that together. So for now nobody is wanting to say definitively that what is in my spine is cancer, but they are all hinting that it is and will treat me as such. Ok….

Anyway. So I am just stuck in cancer purgatory but honestly I believe I am stage IV and I am working on coming to grips with that. If later they say, “JK YOU ARE NOT STAGE IV!” then we can rejoice and just ignore all the mental preparation. I just would rather come to terms with this now so I can start planning a cool funeral. I mean, I know I am not ~currently~ dying, but eventually breast cancer will kill me if it is stage IV (which in my brain it is) and that is dark. Who will I give my makeup collection to? Who inherits all of my TJ Maxx finds? I have to get my affairs in order, people!!!!

All jokes aside, this is not a joke and the more I come to terms with my cancer journey NEVER ending and ending me, I think the sooner I can move on to living my best life. Is there an adult equivalent of the Make a Wish foundation? Can I wish for a new spine? I do hope technology improves and maybe I can be bionic or maybe turn into a living octopus. Or maybe both, like Doc Ock in Spiderman!!! But honestly I won’t hold my breath. Only 3-5% of research goes towards stage IV and that is pretty fucked up. The healthcare system hates people with cancer. We are out here dying and the world is like “meh.” Fuckers.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Papa Roach.

“‘Cause I’m losin’ my sight, losin’ my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine
Losin’ my sight, losin’ my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine”

– Last Resort, Papa Roach

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I survived my first four rounds of radiation therapy last week! This week we will go hard with six rounds. Six?! How do you math, Madison!? Today the techs scheduled me to come on Sunday since they are doing a special opportunity for folks to get radiated and knock one off their countdown since they are closed for Thanksgiving. I opted in and have radiation on Sunday at 8:45 am. My last day of radiation is now December 19! I also have an MRI scan on Wednesday at 5:30 pm for my spine. It will be an hour-long scan. They better have fucking decent music this time. An hour in scan land seems boring as fuck. Cue scanxiety.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Mini story #1: The nails that lifted the most on my hands are my thumbs, particularly my left thumb, so much so that I thought I would lose it. Luckily I got to keep all my finger nails. I noticed both are extremely dark underneath the nail and still lifted so I had this weird thought that if I stuck a needle under my nail, maybe I could clean the nails. Tonight I tried that and large ass chunks pulled out and I am pretty sure they are peach skin pieces from my peach obsession this summer. I am disgusted with myself. My right thumb is completely clean now while my left is still black in spots. Will try again later.

Mini story #2: Going to the grocery store alone is hard. I can’t tell if it is the neuropathy in my fingers, the lack of coordination I now have post-chemo, my finger prints, or a mix of all cancer-causing stupidity but opening small plastic bags for produce is now suddenly my worst fear and nightmare. It is so incredibly hard for me to get them open to the point I approach anxiety attack levels of stress! You might be thinking, “Madison, just lick your fingers and pull on the bags!!!” But in a post-COVID world and the fact I am still building up my white blood count, that is a hard pass. I also did try that and it didn’t really work. Again, I think it is my fingers. They suck. For now I awkwardly will struggle in the store and hope that I eventually can open a bag to score some lemons.

Mini story #3:

Rad tech #1: I like your all-seeing eye tattoo.

Me: Thanks. Too bad it didn’t see my cancer coming.

Rad tech #1 and #2: Oh. *Awkward silence*

Me: Lol dark cancer humor.

Rad tech #2: That was pretty funny.

Mini story #4: I had my Zoladex injection on Thursday. Harry Porter gave blood like a champ and my labs actually came back on time for once. My oncologist was pleased with my progress and doesn’t want to see me until January. However, she did prescribe me my oral hormone blocker pill I am supposed to take every day for the next five years. She said I could start it now or after radiation. I have chosen to start it later, but that is not the point of this mini story. Two amazing things happened before my injection: Sarah stole me three cheeses so I could get a head start on chemocuterie before injection and I stole THE BEST oatmeal I have ever had in my life. It was a rare find. It was called Mylk Labs Instant Oatmeal and it was the coconut flavor. I ate it after radiation on Friday and it was DIVINE. I would not be mad if that was all I got for Christmas this year.

$378,725. That is the total amount that was raised Saturday night at the Tri-Cities Cancer Center Autumn Affair fundraiser. I was invited to attend because I shared my story on video to encourage folks to give that evening. My story was met with a humbling standing ovation from the crowd and compliments throughout the rest of the night for the bravery I have for sharing my journey. Although I am flattered by such thoughts, I once again do not feel brave in any sense. I have been forced into a position where I have to do whatever to save my life and I have chosen along the way to share in hopes to educate others about cancer and advocate for those with cancer. I have a loud little voice and it appears people are willing to listen so I might as well make it worth their time and mine.

I invited my friend Zach as my plus one and he was mistaken for my husband throughout the evening. Love that journey for us. We ate lots of cheese, joked about drinking all the wine at the table, shared some laughs, attempted to win live auction bids, and made some new friends with the randoms at our table. The night ended with dancing to the live band and eating King’s Cake flown in from New Orleans. It was a special evening and I am so grateful I got to be part of the fun and donate back to the foundation. Oh! And I got to hang out with some of my favorite nurses!

TO THE PHOTOS!

Radiation is starting to make me tired. I slept in on Sunday and fell asleep last night at 8 pm until 7 am this morning. I also napped yesterday. No matter how much I slept, I just couldn’t get enough. Was it the 11:30 pm late night out or the invisible lasers? Who’s to say! I must be some sort of party animal now.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by The Wanted.

“The sun goes down, the stars come out
And all that counts is here and now
My universe will never be the same
I’m glad you came”

– Glad You Came, The Wanted

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I started radiation yesterday! Monday was just a test run and yesterday I had my first dose. Honestly I don’t really like going. I would rather go to chemo. There is cheese there. Where are the snacks?! Radiation is indeed NOT the raddest part of cancer treatment. Also someone stole my radiation gown and bag yesterday so that was an awkward way to start off my first treatment. I have radiation and a Zoladex injection tomorrow so basically I will be at the cancer center for half of my day.

TO THE SHORT VERSION!

Radiation treatment is not nearly as fun as chemotherapy. You check in, go into the “locker” room, get dressed into your assigned gown (which by the way mine was missing yesterday what the fuck), and wait to be called back. The waiting room feels like what limbo might feel like if you were waiting to find out if you get to go to heaven or hell. People crack weird jokes. You twiddle your thumbs waiting for something to happen and yesterday I casually browsed a collection of hand knit beanies next to a pile of glow sticks. Rad jokes? I wonder if the oncology ward has beanies too because that is where you really lose hair. I will look into this Thursday when I have my injection.

I got called back and the radiologist nurse (I mean I am not sure what he is… is he a nurse? A tech? A guy doing the cancer lord’s work?) was kind and introduced himself. I was really anxious so I forgot what he said to me but I remember I gave him one of my best fake giggles as he led me back into the room.

The room reminds me of a daycare room: the ceiling panels are pieces of art from the Boys and Girls Club, the walls have some (most likely dusty) fake ivy vines crawling across them, and there is a massive “toy” in the middle of the room that you get to lay on! A child would be very into this room. Me, not so much. It is a higher level in hell, not quite as low as chemo, but we are still in hell. The radiation techs are cute little kind demons.

I basically lay down on this not very comfortable and narrow rectangle with crinkly paper but it is a little softer than paper. My head lays on a firm donut hole pillow. I have to extend my arms above my head and hold on to two handles, almost like I am on a weird theme park ride. They give you a bolster to put under your knees to make your back more comfy. How kind. The techs fidget with my gown and talk in a strange number language I have yet to decipher to share with you all. Yesterday they put a wet blanket-like item on my chest. They kindly soaked it in warm water before applying it so I was not super cold. This blanket blocks the radiation from going deeper into the skin and the treatment is more focused superficially. Every other day they will put the wet blanket on me so that some days I get deeper treatment. This technique is called feathering, a therapy designed for targets within close proximity to multiple organs at risk that rotates the radiation dose.

Before I knew it, the techs leave and I am left with my own thoughts. Why are the ceiling panels upside down so I cannot read what some of the art says? How old are the children who made the art? Do I want a free knit beanie? I will not do breast reconstruction if I am stage IV because I am going to die so why waste my time. Wow that got dark. Not all thoughts are fun thoughts at radiation.

The machine suddenly awakens. Kraken, is that you??? This large magnifying glass thing is above me and two metal panels slowly inch their way towards my arms, stopping like I am stuck in some sort of alien vessel. It gives me canoe vibes. Luckily I am not claustrophobic! The magnifying glass moves above me, left and then right, in half moon motions. A loud hum appears out of nowhere for the second half moon rotation. Then it stops and everything takes its sweet ass time returning to their starting stance. I lay there motionless as I have been instructed. The techs barge in, laughing and continuing some weird conversation they were having. I felt weird. I wanted to be part of their fun.

A tech helps me up and I am shuffled back into the waiting area. On Tuesdays I will see my radiologist after my treatment. Our conversation was pointless yesterday since it was my first treatment. I had zero questions. She told me that she will only be working two weeks a month so I will see her peer the days she isn’t there. The conversation ends awkwardly and she tells me to follow the yellow brick road (not really, just some paper signs) back to the waiting room to change and leave. I go back and remember that I had stolen a fresh gown since someone else had stolen my gown and bag. Who are these cancer kleptos? Why would someone take someone else’s gown and bag? This is a mystery I must solve!

I change and awkwardly ask the techs for a new ziploc bag for my snowflake gown. Everyone turns around and seems annoyed I asked. A tech shuffles me back to the changing area and shows me where the bags are. I felt embarrassed since it was in the same area as the fresh gowns. He scribbles my name, hands me the bag, and walks away. Bye, sir???

Radiation feels impersonal compared to chemotherapy and a bit anticlimactic. I feel like I am just a number since it is a daily activity. Maybe things will get better as the techs get to know me and I give them gifts. But do they even want to get to know me? Would they even appreciate my “emotional support human” pins?

So far my skin feels a little warm to the touch. I have already invested too much money in skin products to help with the upcoming side effects. Surviving cancer is so fucking expensive! I need to write a blog post about that…

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Le Boeuf.

“If only I could get through this

I just gotta get through this
I just gotta get through this
I gotta get through this
I gotta get through this
I gotta make it, gonna make, gonna make it through
Said I’m gonna get through this
I’m gonna get through this
I gotta take, gotta take my mind off you”

– Gotta Get Thru This, Le Boeuf

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I have been MIA all week partying it up in the Midwest. Just kidding. I was there on serious funeral business but I also found time to enjoy myself. I got back around 1 am this morning and now have to prepare myself for my first of 28 rounds of daily radiation starting tomorrow afternoon. I also have a Zoladex injection on Thursday. Boo. This injection has become the bane of my existence. The injection has eliminated my hormonal headaches so I rarely get headaches anymore but it is also a phat needle in my stomach. Stupid.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Nothing says “welcome back from your trip, lil cancer bitch” like doing laundry and forgetting your favorite lipstick in your funeral blazer pocket and getting lipstick ALL OVER YOUR CLOTHES. I write to you all as I do my laundry for the second time this evening in hopes I can remove the blotchy stains all over my clothes. Pre-anxiety med Madison would have been upset. Now I am just really annoyed and hope I can replace my lipstick because honestly that lipstick was a great formula. Fuck the clothes! But also don’t because I got lipstick on some of my fall capsule items. Rip.

Tuesday morning my dad and I left for our Midwest adventure. Funerals make me sad but this gathering turned out to be a healing experience for my soul despite being a reminder that my cancer can turn out of control at any time and take me to the ground, too. I know that is morbid and sad, but it is true and I am consciously aware of that. Granted, my body and cancer is different from that of my aunt who passed, but it is the genetics that haunt me. We share the same DNA mutation: c.1953_1956del (also known as 2072delGAAA.) Pretty impressive that we have technology that cannot only warn us of the mutation but the specific deletion that has created the mutation. Impressive. (Side note: I think I want to get my mutation marker tattooed on me. Kind of cool. Sad. But cool.)

It was great to connect with family despite the sad circumstances. (Fuck cancer. It really needs to leave our family alone.) I also grew a great appreciation for the Midwest and learned that there are many cities with the name “Sioux” in them and they are all in different states and you basically cross state lines the same way we travel between Kennewick, Pasco, and Richland. One moment you are in Sioux City, Iowa and then you are in South Sioux City, Nebraska, and then you might make your way up to North Sioux City, South Dakota. Are you confused yet? Because same.

I spent a lot of time with my cousins exploring our family history. We visited the grave sites of our grandparents (and I think great grandparents if I remember right??) at midnight one night. (What can I say? We are spooky people.) We visited a boat launch named after our family. My dad and his siblings used to swim in the small body of water as kids before it was transformed into a boat launch. I stayed at my aunt’s house, the same property that they all grew up on. That was really cool.

The cherry on top of a good trip was on Friday we drove down to Lincoln, Nebraska and stayed with my older sister for our last night. And I just got to laugh and be carefree for a bit. It was the most normal I have felt since before treatment.

Now I am back to reality and have to prepare for my first round of 28 daily radiations tomorrow morning. Eff.

PHOTO INTERMISSION!

So radiation… the next leg of this never ending journey of cancer. What the fuck is radiation treatment? Let’s learn, kids!

According to Cancer.org, “Radiation therapy uses high-energy particles or waves, such as x-rays, gamma rays, electron beams, or protons, to destroy or damage cancer cells.

Your cells normally grow and divide to form new cells. But cancer cells grow and divide faster than most normal cells. Radiation works by making small breaks in the DNA inside cells. These breaks keep cancer cells from growing and dividing and cause them to die. Nearby normal cells can also be affected by radiation, but most recover and go back to working the way they should.

While chemotherapy and other treatments that are taken by mouth or injection usually expose the whole body to cancer-fighting drugs, radiation therapy is usually a local treatment. This means it’s usually aimed at and affects only the part of the body needing treatment. Radiation treatments are planned so that they damage cancer cells with as little harm as possible to nearby healthy cells.”

I figured copying and pasting the definition was easier than me trying to summarize it since they did a pretty good job breaking it down in simple enough terms. There are three different types of radiation. I will be receiving external radiation (or external beam radiation) which basically is a machine directing high-energy rays into my body. If you remember from a previous update, I received several black dot tattoos that will help guide the beams to accurately target the same spots each time. My radiologist recommended this neat little intro video to external radiation if you want to watch it and learn more about what I will be doing.

A lot of you have asked about side effects of radiation and they include, but are not limited to: skin reddening or tanning, fatigue, hair loss in the treatment location, chest wall or breast swelling, chest tenderness, and possible skin peeling. I get some bonus potential side effects because they are treating my lymph nodes as well which include cough, sore throat, hoarseness, and rare risk of lung inflammation. Cool cool cool….

Of course there are potential long term or permanent complications from receiving radiation. These include but once again are not limited to cosmetic changes such as color or texture change, spider like blood vessel formations on the skin, hair loss in treatment area (which this one I am okay with haha), chest wall or breast scarring, unlikely risk of second cancer formation or heart damage, rib fracture, arm swelling (lymphedema), lung scarring, chest wall or breast pain, and potential healing problems if undergoing reconstruction or plastic surgery. Whew. That is quite a list! Fuck. Oh and the bonus side effect for my lymph node area is an unlikely risk of spinal cord or nerve damage.

Do cancer treatment they said. It will be fun they said.

Most likely I will be fatigued and have to deal with a stupid never ending sun burn and tightness. Hopefully I don’t have any other of the weird side effects. Everyone I know has told me that radiation is a walk in the park compared to chemo but honestly all of this still sucks. Cancer treatment is never fucking ending and I don’t want to do any of it, even if it is “easier.” It would be easier for me if I didn’t have cancer but I guess that is a moot point.

Is radiation the raddest part of cancer treatment? I guess we will find out.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Jodie Harsh.

“I’m here for a good time, not a long time
So make me feel alive
C’mon
I’m here for a good time, not a long time
So make me feel alive
C’mon, make me feel alive”

– Good Time, Jodie Harsh