You are going to be okay

     Whether you’re having a hard time getting that 4.0 that’s going to get you  into medical school, or you’re going through a bad breakup or maybe your health is failing you. Whatever the case, you will be okay. You’re going through a rough patch right now and it probably hurts. It’ll hurt tomorrow and maybe the day after. But one day, you’ll wake up and it’ll hurt just a little bit less.

     Wherever this road leads you to is where you are meant to go. Perhaps this means becoming an architect rather than a doctor. Perhaps this means forgetting him because there’s someone else waiting for you. Perhaps this means your book is ending and you are writing the last sentence. Whatever the case, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Smile. No, not that forced muscle movement that you call a smile. Think of something or someone that you love. Smile. You are going to be okay. 

"Perservere through the difficult patches and better times are sure to come"

"Happiness keeps you sweet. Trials keep you strong. Sorrows keep you human. Failures keep you humble. Success keeps you growing."

Heya!

     I’m sorry I haven’t been posting very regularly. Things have been a little bit extra tough recently. As some of you know, I was admitted to the hospital a couple of weeks ago for pain and fever. I underwent 10 days of radiation, which helped with the pain, but created it’s own bags of problems. I’m home now and undergoing a new set of chemo medication. So far, there’s very little reaction from the chemo, but I’m expecting a lot worse from the drugs that I will be getting this Friday (mainly bone and muscle pain).

     Also, for the past week, I’ve just not been myself. I would spend most of the day in bed because of pain and I would cry. Normally, I have an ‘okay, let’s do this’ kind of attitude and I try to put my emotions aside until the storm has blown over. It’s just for the last little while, I’ve found it really hard to ‘suck it up’ and deal with this. I know the main reason for my little freak outs is the pain. Seriously this shit can get really bad. I’m on a lot of heavy narcotics but it’s still not under control. I also feel really tired. It’s not the kind of tiredness that goes away with a good night’s sleep. It’s the 'I’ve had enough' kind of feeling. I’ve never been good at long distance in track and field, and this is a heck of a long journey. Sorry for the downer. I just needed to get this out of my system. I promise the next post will be a lot lighter! 

Medical Update 2

     On Tuesday of this week was day when I found out the result of the latest CT scan from my oncologist. There were three possibilities. The first was that all the tumors have shrunk and we would continue with our current chemo regiment. The second was that everything except the main tumor have shrunk and we would still continue the current chemo regiment, except also radiate the main tumor. The third, was that everything had grown and we would have to switch chemo.

     On the way to the hospital, I started crying in the car and wished really hard that my sisters could have been with me. I think I knew which result I was going to get. My doctor came in and told me that the main tumor had grown by 2cm, the mass on my spine had gotten considerably bigger and they found two new nodules in my left lung. I entered into a very calm type of sadness.

Before starting the new treatment, my oncologist wanted to consult his colleagues to see if there was a better method that he was unaware of. Both him and another doctor told me that I was a special case because of my young age, so they were all doing everything they could to save me. So, he sent me home with the promise to see me in two days with a plan.

     On Thursday morning, I was scheduled for an MRI to the back. I’ve had many MRIs in the past, but this was an interesting experience. It started off very normal, but during the middle, I started getting an intense pain in my pelvis. I couldn’t help but fidget in the machine, which resulted in me having to lie there longer because my movement messed up many of the images. After that was over, the nurse came in to pull out the needle in my arm, and send me to change. As I stepped into the change room, I noticed a puddle of blood on the floor that was the size of a large plate. I then looked at my arm and my hospital gown was soaked with blood. I was just a little puzzled, but a lady stepped in to get ready for her MRI and she almost fainted at the sight of so much blood. She ran out hysterically yelling for a nurse. Poor girl. In case you’re wondering, I’m fine, except for a little bit of tenderness in my arm afterwards.

     After my MRI appointment, I went to see my oncologist again. He did find another chemo regiment that he thinks is better suited for my situation. Before starting, he wanted the opinion of my radiation oncologist, so I was sent to go see him that day. Afterwards, it was decided that I would get two weeks of radiation before starting the new chemotherapy. Because they wanted me to start right away, I was sent to get markings to prep for radiation. These are little tattoos that they put on your body to line you up for the machine. They hurt and now I have five little tattoos on my body.

So now there’s an entirely new game plan. I am really terrified, but at the same time, I’ve also realized how many people are trying their hardest to help me. The doctors, nurses and technicians are not just doing their jobs, but making a huge effort to make me comfortable.

     Here we go! I’ll keep you guys posted!

You

-just to clarify, ‘you’ represents a group of people

You

You know who you are. You showed me what being a friend means. You would drive/ride in a train for hours just to be with me for a few days. When you couldn’t be here, you mailed me wonderful things to help me take my mind off the next appointment. Fundraisers were held for me and you made sure that I knew people were thinking about me. You let me rant on for hours about the littlest things. I see the little stars everyday and they remind me of you. You do so much for me and have never wavered once. I really do love you.

You

You know who you are. You are the people who I call my family. We fight and we argue, but we always come back to each other. You hurt as much as I am hurting and you are fighting your own battles. I would do anything in this world for you and it’s clear that you’d do the same for me. I love you so much and will always.

You

You know who you are. You are the numerous strangers that have showed me that the world is beautiful and humanity is kind. Through the donations that you have made to cancer research, I am able to have more time with my loved ones. You hold workshops and exercise programs so that I can better handle my illness. You make me hats and blankets and makes sure that I don’t leave that cancer center without those cookies. I really do thank you.

You

You know who you are. Or maybe you don’t. You are the people who I thought were my friends/loved ones. I thought I could depend on you for strength and support. I thought you were the people who was going to be there for me. I thought I was important to you. I was wrong. You were amongst the first people to know what was going on, but you treated me with disregard. You send a text once in a while to appease your conscious and then go about your daily routine. I hear you complain about trivial matters and then gloat about how wonderful your life is. I really don’t need you. 

The Cycle

     The universe is like a great wheel that keeps on spinning. Everything in our reality is part of the cycle. By some kind of miraculous accident, our molecules are put into exactly where they are and we become us. The little us start to interact with everything else that is there. This is life. It is an ephemeral dot in this great cycle. One day, the molecules break apart and our atoms drift further and further away. The tiny pieces of us then float into the boundless sea, seep into the spring soil, become the wings on a honey bee, get carried away to another galaxy, and maybe, just maybe, if we’re really lucky, we might just become a part of another human being! The continuous cycle. We are all part of. 

Medical Update

     Most people are familiar with what cancer is physically. It is the loss of hair, the gaining of weight or the removal of a limb. What many people are unaware of is the emotional aspect of cancer. My blog explores my emotional journey with cancer, as a therapeutic way for me to find a little bit of peace in this world full of chaos. I do still want to update you fully on what is going on physically and medically. I was first diagnosed with stage 4 Ewing’s sarcoma on May 31, 2013 at the Grand River emergency room. Because of the location of the tumor, the doctors at Grand River Hospital were reluctant to do a biopsy due to their lack of experience and equipment. They sent my information to Hamilton in hopes of having more experienced doctors there take care of me. I awaited 2 weeks at home from my initial diagnosis to the biopsy. I can safely say that those two weeks were the most painful time of my life. I had a collapsed vertebrae on my spine which caused unimaginable amount of pain. My left leg was so tormenting that I was bedridden and could not move. I had to have my parents carry me to the bathroom. The only thing that got me through those days was the hope that someday, this was all going to be over. In the middle of June, I was finally admitted to the Juravinski Hospital under an amazing doctor, Dr. Tozer. He started me on an intense chemotherapy regiment that consists of vincristine, doxorubicin, cyclophosphamide, ifosfamide and etoposide. The initial CT scan showed the primary tumor, which was around 9cm x 7cm with metastasis to the pelvic bones, spinal vertebras, rib bones, left humerus and to the left lung. After 2.5 rounds of chemotherapy, the primary tumor shrunk to 5cm x 4cm x 6cm, with the metastasis also shrinking. After another 1.5 rounds of chemo, I did another CT scan and this time, the scan showed that the primary tumor had grown by a centimeter. I spoke to Dr.Tozer and we both came to the conclusion that it was best for me to be transferred to Ottawa to be closer to my family, considering that my time could be limited. At Ottawa, my oncologist became Dr.Verma. After some discussion, we decided to give the chemotherapy another try because this could be my best option. This is why I am currently in the Ottawa General Hospital receiving my 5 day chemo regiment. The word ‘interesting’ could be used to describe my journey, or perhaps ‘terrifying’ or ‘painful’, but I’d rather stick to ‘interesting’. I’ve had to find out what a blood transfusion is, and how it feels to have almost all of mine white blood cells eradicated. For the future, my greatest hope is to not feel the physical pain that I felt during the first two weeks. I don’t think I’m asking for a lot, I just don’t want to be in that much pain anymore. Anyways, I will keep you updated on what goes on medically and hopefully things turn for the better!

The Topic of Death

     Somehow, I’m staring out the big hospital window again. It’s been seven months since wearing the blue hospital gown and entertaining the millions of nurses and doctors who come into my room. So much has changed in the last seven months. The tumor has shrunk, then grown back again. The chemo has worked and then stopped working. I’ve been optimistic about the future and then started to doubt the thought of a happy ending. I’ve hid in the comfort of denial towards the possibility of dying and then come to peace with it. The topic of dying. How sensitive it is. It is not something that I like to think about, but reality demands that I give it some thought. How I feel and my views are beautifully articulated by the following two quotes:

     "To me, what's important about life is the living, not the dying. My role is to live only for a while, not forever. I'm a short strand in a long rope that stretches back to the beginning of life billions of years ago. I automatically have immortality through my being alive and influencing the world and the "rope" as it stretches into the future. The influence of my having lived lasts forever through the impacts I have on other people and on the physical world. I seek no greater immortality than that. I try to make those impacts the best they can be. They are my legacy to the future. As I contemplate my death, I think about how I have influenced the world and how that legacy will live on after I have died."
- Art

     "Death, this being that rides a pale white horse, the clomps and gallops leaving a trail of lightning behind him, and then Death picks up the dying person or animal or baby, the person in pain, the baby that is too tired for this world, and Death brings them to rest in the bosom of Mercy and the gospel asks us mothers and sisters and fathers and sons and brothers and lovelorn and grief-stricken and lonesome — not to weep. And each time I read it, I allow myself to weep. Because when I do that, it’s not the end of something but rather the beginning."