When I was a junior at the University of New Hampshire,
there was a campus creepster on the loose. Not only did he peep like a Tom, he
sought out girls leaving parties, followed them home then once they went to
bed, broke into their apartments, scissors in hand.
His signature move was snipping the straps of women’s tops
or cutting their clothes off altogether so that they’d awaken naked, confused
and terrified of what happened to them in the night. The media quickly dubbed
him “Jack the Snipper” grabbing headlines in the sleepy New Hampshire town with
this juicy story – something destined for Dateline.
Meanwhile, the more his name popped up, the more it terrified us.
In the span of a month, seven women reported having their
downtown Durham apartments broken into. Some recalled waking up to a strange
man standing over them, others reported waking up surrounded by their own
tattered clothes. The 27-year-old non-student was spotted staring into windows
and lurking in shadows.
Among the many things I am grateful for this Thanksgiving
weekend is something I no longer have: my rash. I was able to enjoy the three
Thanksgiving celebrations with three familial sets and cheer on Craig in a
turkey day road race sans the itchy red spots that had been haunting me.
As of Wednesday, the red brail faded into a vague
purpleness, no longer raised and angry. With this good report, I got the
go-ahead to start back on the Revlimid treatment pills back at the original
10mg. This is half the dosage I was on when the rash set in.
I was eager to get back on the treatment, worried that I
would lose any momentum I had gained against the disease. However, getting back
on hasn’t been easy. It seems my body easily forgot the semblance of balance it
had found once it got used to the drug. It’s again been a shock to the system.
Tumor flare seems to be again well, flaring. Ouch. My
mid-back hurts tremendously. It hurts for a couple of days before I went back
on the treatment pill and now that I’m taking it again, the pain has increased.
I take the medication before bed so I don’t have to deal with its ramifications
during the day. For these first few days back on the Revlimid wagon, this has
meant waking up throughout the night with pretty tremendous pain in my hips and
back, the areas where lymphoma lies/laid.
I’m not surprised, and I guess this is good. Pain means that
the Revlimid is jacking up my immune system and flooding those diseased areas
with natural killer cells. The process causes a lot of internal inflammation in
my bones where there’s not a lot of room for extra cells. It feels at times as
if my hipbones will just give out. I’ll check in with my Columbia team on
Monday, but I’m pretty confident that they’ll say: yup, this is likely tumor
flare; it’s the drug doing its job.
I ride it out with Aleve, breathing, microwaveable heating
pad and stretching. The nighttime pain keeps sleep elusive and the first hours
of the morning extra creaky. It’s manageable most of the time through the day, though I’m certainly hoping
things calm down a little. In this case, pain is proof positive. With that in
mind, I can endure it.
Getting to play with my niece and nephew and now frolicking
in full-swing Christmas season and everything that brings is a beautiful
distraction. Best painkillers out there.
This is an incredible microscopic look at what we hope is happening in my body. The Revlimid is working to ramp up those receptors on the natural killer cells (the red dots) so that they will latch onto the cancer cells and eat them for dinner just like this video demonstrates:
At the beginning. I love you and am proud of you, sweet girl.
I’ve actually been taking tangible steps toward recreating
this blog into a book for a wider audience. A huge part of getting a manuscript and proposal ready to pitch to literary agents and
publishers has been going back through it all, rereading, editing, organizing,
trimming. That’s been a journey in and of itself and I realize why it’s taken
me so long to find the strength to be able to do it. It’s eerie and it's tough to relive it
all and to hear my own voice and perspective change as I read about everything
I’ve been through.
However, I’m confident that I’m finally in a place where I
can handle it and see past my own insecurities to the greater good that sharing
this story can bring. Someone told me in the very beginning that I should write a book but I thought that my cancer story wasn't unique enough; I had an "easy" cancer that'd be cured with simple therapy. Well, now I've certainly got a lot more fodder to work with. My story most definitely isn't mainstream.
It’s strange because I read it and just feel awful for this
young woman. I know what’s going to happen, obviously, but even so am
disappointed with every relapse and devastated at the side effects and choices
that had to be made. I read it as if it’s not me, but someone else, a coping
mechanism I’m familiar with relying on. The blog has helped me to remove myself
from this whole situation and now creating it in another medium is like setting
another layer of padding. I truly don’t recognize myself in some entries. In others, I
remember myself in those moments far too intimately and it can be very painful
to relive. It’s been a taxing and revealing creative process so far.
This week will be a one-blog-entry week due to a variety of
reasons, not the least of which are jet lag and a raging red rash.
Steve’s memorial was beautiful, respectful, and inspiring.
The positive, loving energy among the nearly 300 people that filled the LA
studio where it took place was palpable. So many good people that he had
attracted in his life and it’s no surprise that they were all there to pay
tribute to such an incredible person that had impacted their lives as he has
mine. The day was full of laughter, shared stories, touching moments and
positivity among Steve’s favorite breakfast foods and drinks.
It was an honor to get to meet his family and to be able to
tell them how much their son meant to me. In and of itself, it was worth the
cross-country flight to be able to hug his wife, Jen, in person and to hear her
speak so eloquently about the loss of her soul mate.
Sunset in Santa Monica
Though I wish he was still here, I left having learned more
about his life and the way that he lived it giving me such a dose of positive
inspiration and an acceptance of the natural rhythms of life and death that I
needed at this time. The lessons that he taught through his witty and
thoughtful ways did not die with him; they will always live on inside all of us
who were fortunate enough to have had him in our lives.
Tomorrow we fly to Los Angeles, California, to say goodbye to
my friend, Steve. Comprehending and accepting his death has been extremely
difficult for me. I feel that being there with others who loved him celebrating
his life will be the best way to find some peace and allow myself to better let
go of the anger and the pain knowing that I was able to honor him and thank him
for the friendship he gave me.
Craig is coming with me in strong support, and we both want
to be there for Steve’s wife, Jen, who has always been there for us from across
the miles in the most difficult of times. This time is undoubtedly beyond
painful for her. I am eager to learn more about Steve’s life pre-cancer and to
meet the friends and family that also loved him.
Part of his day of honor will include his favorite drinks
and watching the Eagle’s football game, so I'm expecting laughs and good memories amid the sad parts. They’re calling it a celebration of his
life; I look forward to being able to do just that. My life was changed for the
better because of him, and I want to honor his life and the path we walked
together living with this disease.
I know it will be hard; I can’t help but project my own
fate, but I know that it will also be cleansing and inspiring. I just have to be there. I am following
my heart on this one.
