The Blue Wig

I've been trying to write this post for days now and for some reason the words keep getting trapped.  I guess the hardest part for me to share with you is the sadness that comes with this journey, and, unfortunately, last week was a sad week.  You see, as I was imagining my little parade in my living room to celebrate my chemo milestone, my grandfather's (step-grandfather to be exact, but that's just a technicality) life faded away.  Surrounded by all of his children and grandchildren (save me), my grandfather, David, took his last breath at the age of 88.  In some ways, you could say that his last moments were somewhat poetic.  He waited for all of his grandchildren to fly in from various parts of the world, and after meeting his newest great-grandchild, he quietly passed; a kind of affirmation of the cycle of life and the process of death and rebirth.  And yet, all I can dwell on is the fact that I couldn't be there.  I couldn't say goodbye, I couldn't hold my grandmother's hand to help quell her grief and loneliness, I couldn't do all the things that I would have done if it wasn't for my disease.  Instead I was paralyzed and isolated far away from my family unable to do anything at all.  I couldn't believe it.  At my age, I'M the one that's supposed to be strong and supportive, not the other way around.  But there I was, sitting on my couch, a complete chemo basketcase wishing I could fly out of my body to give my family the ginormous hug that my spirit was longing to give.   Well, unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I still haven't mastered the art of out of body experiences, so I decided instead to spend a day wearing a blue wig.  Now I know what you're thinking.  What on earth does wearing a blue wig have to do with my grandfather dying.  Well, honestly, and I realize that I'm taking lots of drugs, and that I may have started to lose my mind, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, it would make my grandfather laugh, and frankly, I could use a laugh as well.  So out I went onto the streets of Manhattan in a bright blue wig, with one hot pink highlight, to show the universe that I could keep laughing through the sadness, and you know what I found out???  The universe started laughing with me.  Ok, maybe not the universe, but the people of Manhattan.  Amidst the stares and occasional confusion, for the most part people met me with grins and smiles.  As I timidly walked through the streets with tears running behind my sunglasses, my fellow Manhattanites fed me with their laughter and even cheered my bright blue bob.  Now I'd be lying if I told you that I wasn't still sad about losing my grandfather, but I find comfort, that maybe, just maybe I made him laugh with me amidst our distance and our mutual loss.  

I loved you very much David.  Thank you for filling in for my grandfather all of these years and giving my grandmother such unwavering love, support and affection for 25 years.   You will truly be missed.  May you rest in peace.

Straight from the trenches,

DT

PS Funny, I started out sad, and now I'm happy again.  Freakin' chemo.  I'm such a basketcase! 

Three down, three to go

So, three down, three to go.  Yup, if you've done your math right, you have figured out that I'm half way done with chemo!!!  Woohoo.  You can't see it, but there's a little parade running down my living room with confetti and balloons.  Ok, admittedly, the little parade may be a result of the various drugs I'm taking (yes, there are even more this time, even one with a sexy name "Bella Donna"), but as long as I see the parade, it's a celebration to me.  So now that I'm half way done, I can officially say... you ready for this??? Chemo Sucks.  Yes, that's the word, the only insight.  Just like alcohol, the more chemo you take, the worse your hangovers get.  I won't get into the details, but just as soon as you think you're feeling better, the chemohangover creeps up on you and introduces another fun adventure.  To that end, I'm presently having a serious discussion with my body, trying to remind it that it's Saturday, and I should be on the upswing so that we can go out on the town.  Unfortunately, my body is using it's cleverist tricks to outsmart me.  So here I am, on a Saturday night, hanging out on my sofa with my little parade.  I will be honest and tell you that I have more to tell about my week, which I promise I will do, but I figured, at least for now, we should all just toast that I'm half way done with this journey and will hopefully be heading toward the finish line soon.

Thanks again for reading.

Straight from the trenches.

DT

So...

So I survived another cycle of chemo and my first few days back at work.  Hooray!  It's a good thing I went back to work because I arrived to find out that they were moving my office in a week.  Would have been a little embarrassing if the movers had found the business suit and panty hose that I had stuffed in a drawer and forgotten before I went on leave.  You see, that fateful day when I went to the radiologist for my ultrasound, I had changed out of my suit and into my jeans in my office in order to be comfortable on my flight to Los Angeles.  Of course, with everything that happened in the next few hours and days, I totally forgot about my poor little suit that was crumpled in a drawer, along with some panty hose.  So luckily I found out about the move just in time to salvage my suit from it's drawer and hastily fold it into a cardboard box so that it can be moved in secret, without the trusty movers seeing.  I know, I know, this is no way to treat a suit.  All I can say is that I promise that one day, that suit will make it to a dry cleaner and resume its rightful place in my closet.  The reality is that my office is a venerable closet.  You see, I always keep a dress there in case I need to do a magic, presto, changeo to greet an unexpected client, and about five pairs of shoes to accommodate any shoe emergency (and to let me use flats to and from work).  So my suit you see is in very good company.  The problem is, due to recent events, these items have been sorely neglected, as has been my job an career.  On the other hand, three little days of work (in which I did very little work to be honest), left me exhausted.  So, the big question is, how do I take care of myself, without leaving a little crumpled suit and my career stuck in a drawer?  No really, how?  Any thoughts?  Honestly people, this is supposed to be interactive!!! (just kidding).  But seriously, how do I do this?  Well.... I honestly don't know the answer yet.  I guess just take it one day at a time and hope the wrinkles iron out as we move along.  For now, my suit has upgraded from being crumpled in a drawer to being folded in a cardboard box.  Although it will be neglected for yet another week while I get another round of chemo, eventually it will make it out of that box and onto a hanger... and then, maybe I'll be able to put it on again, and feel comfortable in its fabric.  In the meantime, I'm going to focus on taking care of myself and slowly remind myself of the person who used to fit into that suit.

Thanks as always for reading.

Straight from the trenches,

DT

Back to Work

So the time has come to stop lounging on the couch and go back to work.  Yes friends, I finally made the decision that it might be good for me to reconnect with society and remember how to be a lawyer.  Could be a challenge with all the drugs, chemobrain and general listlessness, but I'm sure I can hack it....right??? (If you work with me, please ignore this.  I am perfectly lucid, drug free and focused, promise...except for the chemo, steroids and other assorted drugs of course, they're forcing me to take that)  So I have to admit, I'm pretty nervous.  I mean, most doctors and studies say that you should continue working to the extent you're physically capable of doing so, but that's the thing... what exactly does physically capable mean?  Now, if I was a construction worker, the answer would be clear.  I absolutely would not be physically capable of doing my job.  I can barely lift two pound weights, let alone aim a hammer in the right direction (not that I ever could aim a hammer in the right direction... does anyone else find that surprisingly hard?).  Anyway, unfortunately, I'm not a construction worker.  I am a lawyer, who for the most part, does very little heavy lifting or physical labor.  My primary tool is my brain, which one would think, now that I'm off narcotic pain killers, should for the most part be fully functional (of course, one could argue that my brain was never fully functional, but I digress).   The problem is that when the body is failing you, the mind usually follows suit, so how do you know whether you're physically capable of doing your job?  Well in my case, the realization that I could possible go back to work (on a limited basis) came when I was sitting during one of my off weeks from chemo and realized for the first time in months that I was bored of sitting in my apartment.  In spite of my newly acquired anemia, digestive issues and general fatigue (is this TMI??), I found myself wanting to rejoin the world and find something different to talk about than the Big C.  Unfortunately though, because of the newly acquired anemia, digestive issues and general fatigue, my physical capacity is somewhat diminished.  So what is a girl to do?  Definitely don't want to impose my "issues" on my co-workers, but I also don't want to be BORED (nor unemployed).  Well, I've decided to give it a go... part time.  Now for anyone who has ever worked at a New York law firm, you know that "part time" is tricky.  Clients don't really care whether you're part time or full time, they just want want they need done, which on top of the "billable hour" is why many lawyers are up until 2AM doing their clients' bidding.  Well in my diminished state, I CLEARLY can't work until 2AM, I mean, I have cancer people!  Ok, ok, fair enough. No one will make me work until 2AM (I don't think).  But if something needs to get done, what will I do?  Well, the answer my friends is balance.  Yes, my job (on top of doing my job), is to find the pot of gold at the end of every lawyer's rainbow and achieve B-A-L-A-N-C-E.  I need to do what every lawyer fears doing, which is stop communicating at a certain hour and be comfortable letting my voicemail fill up after 5PM.  Now to normal people, this may be no big deal, but as my fellow lawyers know, not checking your voicemail when your bberry tells you that you've received a voicemail is as anxiety inducing as finding out that you need to keep a gas mask at your desk in order to protect you in case of a fire or terrorist attack.  So this is my challenge.  Gotta become the Tibetan monk of the legal world and achieve the Nirvana of balance (without of course pissing off a client or unloading work on already way too busy coworkers).  So I bow to you all, as I pack my lunch box and rejoin the corporate jungle.  Wish me luck!!

As always, thanks for reading.

Straight from the trenches,

DT

PS This post in no way represents the views or opinions of a the law firm where DT works, which will remain unnamed because as aforementioned, these are not the opinions of such law firm.  (Hey, I am a lawyer. Had to be done. Maybe I can do this!)

PPS If I work for you, please ignore this post.  As mentioned above, I am completely lucid, drug free and focused, ready to take on anything you throw at me. :)

UMMMM.....

So I wanted to post a link to the song that I mentioned in my last post and make sure that I spelled Rascal Flatts correctly, which I didn't (sorry Rascal Flatts), and it turns out that the song they were singing was "BOB THAT HEAD," not "BALD MY HEAD."  Honestly, how self-involved and obsessed am I!!  Anyway, still think it was funny, even if I did subconciously change the lyrics to serve my own selfish purposes.  Sorry about that everyone.  It was the chemobrain, I swear!!!

Thanks as always for reading.

Bobbing her head in the trenches,

DT

Quick Thought

So I don't have much time to write right now, but, I just had to write and share what just happened with all of you.  So I know you're probably sick of me talking about my hair (or lack thereof), but this morning, as I was sitting there lint rolling my head, Rascal Flats (the band) got on tv to sing a song called "Bald my Head."  I nearly fell over laughing.  Picture me, sitting there on my couch, watching the Today Show, casually rolling my trusty lint roller over my head, when a band starts singling live on tv "BALD MY HEAD" in a southern twang.  I couldn't stop laughing.  who knew I'd have a theme song for my cancer!  Hilarious.  I suggest everyone download the song and play it while you read my post.  You will crack up.  Honestly, it's good to cut the tension sometimes.  Anyway, have to run.  Will write more in my weekly update later today.

As always, thanks for reading.

Straight from the trenches,

DT

My Mother

So as promised, I sat down today to continue to catch you up to the present and as I started trying to a write a witty little blurb about my family history, I realized that I simply cannot be honest with you, nor truly discuss the journey that I am traveling without talking about my mother.  Though not a day that goes by that I don't think of her, I rarely talk about her.  Yet today, as I was getting my Herceptin treatment, she quietly revealed herself into a conversation.  I was talking to my nurse about how much treatment had changed since my mother went through cancer treatment, when she asked me whether I missed her... especially now.  When answering my nurse's question, I found myself drowning in my words, unable to speak.  I realized this evening how frightened I am to confront the depth of the gap I feel without her... especially now.  

As many of you already know, my mother died in 1998 of lung cancer.  What many of you don't know is that more than a decade prior to that, my mother also battled breast cancer, which was totally unrelated to the lung cancer that ultimately took her life.  Ironically, my mother is actually a breast cancer survivor.  You see, my mother had breast cancer before chemotherapy existed; before radiation began to beam through cancer cells; before reconstructions and implants; before there were pathology reports to tell you how your cancer behaved; before there were any options.  Though cancer ultimately defeated my mother's body, my mother's story is one of a woman not only fighting and surviving cancer, but thriving after it, and this is the example that I'm carrying with me as work my way through this battle.  That said, I would be lying if I told you that the synchronicity of our circumstances isn't paralyzing.  In many ways, I am reliving my mother's own battle and reconnecting with memories and emotions that I have buried and suppressed for many years.  With every step I take through my treatment, I am retracing the steps she took down the same path, and all the missteps I took during the most difficult period of her life.  At the same time I am longing for her support, wishing I could hear her calm, even voice disarm and diffuse all my fears.  Nearly 10 years after my mother's death, I am standing here face to face with her killer, and my only wish is that she were here to shield me from its menace.  Yet my reality is that there is only an empty space in front of me and the only way to vindicate the emptiness is to fight my cancer with every part of my being, and hope that in fighting, I can feel her strength and learn her grace for myself.  So for her sake and mine, I'm going to put on my ninja gear, look cancer in the eye and take it down for the both of us.

October 19, 2008, almost exactly a month after my last chemo treatment, marks the 10th anniversary of my mother's passing.  I hope that all of you will join me on that day to toast both of our lives as I move from a cancer fighter to a cancer survivor.  

I miss you and love you mom.  Te extrano mas que puedes imaginerte.  I promise to fight this for us and for all the people who have fallen to this disease.

As always thanks for reading.

Straight from the trenches

-DT

PS I promise it will be lighter next time. 

The scariest day

So one of the first questions I get when I'm asked about the big C is how did I know; what was it that made me think twice about how I felt and get myself to the doctor.  The answer, I'm lucky and I just felt something wrong.  The reality is that I originally went to the doctor because of a stomach bug, but while I was there, I took the opportunity to tell my general practitioner (GP) that I felt something strange.  She checked it out, but because of my age, she didn't think it was anything.  Now let me be clear, my GP is a fine doctor, and unfortunately her response is a common among the medical community.  The reality is that most women who get breast cancer are above the age 50, so the medical community often ignores signs of cancer in younger women because it's an unlikely prospect.  This is why it is crucial for women (and men for that matter) to be aware of their bodies and react when something just doesn't feel right.  For me, that's essentially what happened. I wasn't sick, there wasn't anything wrong with me, but I just felt that this lump in my breast wasn't right.  Since my GP didn't think it was anything, I went to my OBGYN to get checked out.  She's the one who checks me every year, so I figured, if she said I was in the clear, then I was in the clear.  Unfortunately, I wasn't.  "Just to be safe," my OBGYN sent me to get an ultrasound, just to check out what was "probably nothing". (For all you younger (i.e. under 40) women, you should know that mammograms are not always capable of detecting breast cancer in younger women.   The reason is that the mammogram works by spreading out the breast tissue as thinly as possible.  Younger breast tissue is generally denser, making it difficult to get an accurate reading on a mammogram.  Therefore, if you are under 35 and need a mammogram, insist on getting an ultrasound as well, just to cover your bases.)  So off I went and made my appointment to check what was "probably nothing" and went about my business.  Because it was "probably nothing," I didn't tell anyone about this appointment, and went alone to find out my fate.  As soon as the ultrasound began, I knew something was wrong.  This was taking way too long, but it's "probably nothing," so I shouldn't panic.  Once she had taken enough measurements, she told me to go back to my dressing room and wait.  A few minutes later, another radiologist came to my dressing room and told me, "so we're just going to do a mammogram, no big deal".  NO BIG DEAL!!! Are you kidding me?  Now, I don't know much about medicine and I'm definitely not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that getting an appointment in NYC is nearly impossible and doctors never rush you into additional tests unless something is SOMETHING.  Even so, I tried to remain calm, thinking, this is "just to be safe," they're just covering their bases.  Nonetheless, as I was shuttled into the mammogram room, the tears start to roll down my face, at which point, the technician who was going to give me the mammogram looked at me kindly and said "don't worry honey, you just cry.  Cry as much as you want, and let me do all the work."  "EXCUSE ME, JUST CRY??  DON'T TELL ME TO JUST CRY!!! TELL ME THAT I'M OVERREACTING, THAT I'M AN ANNOYING HYPOCHONDRIAC WHO'S JUST WASTING EVERYONE'S TIME AND RESOURCES!!!"  Of course I didn't say this in the middle of all my blubbering.  I think all I mustered was an "um....o-o-o-k-k-k..," as the technician put me in position to squash whatever dignity was left in me.  Now for those of you who have never had a mammogram, the idea is to pretty much take you chest and turn it into a pancake.  You're basically manhandled, fondled, shifted and lifted in order to squash the bejeezus out of your breasts.  All I can say is take a deep breath, and just think "this will save your life, this will save your life, this will save your life."  That's all I got for you, sorry I don't have anything better.  Anyway, I digress.  As the mammogram continued, it became very clear that I was not an overreactive, annoying, hypochondriac.  In fact I was just the opposite.  So opposite that I was told to go back and wait in my little dressing room for the radiologist to come talk to me.  Within minutes, the radiologist came by my dressing room and sealed my fate.  "Great news Dalia, I talked to the other doctor and she said she could do the biopsy today!"  As I looked at her dumbfounded, she looked down and saw my suitcase next to me.  "Wait, are you coming or going?"  "I'm going," I responded, "I'm flying out to L.A. right after this."  "Oh," she said, "you can't travel after the biopsy.  Hmm. Well, why don't we just schedule it for Monday when you come back.  In the meantime just try to enjoy your weekend."  EXCUSE ME??? ENJOY MY WEEKEND?  YOU'VE BASICALLY JUST TOLD ME THAT I PROBABLY HAVE CANCER, BUT JUST GO ALONG AND ENJOY MY WEEKEND???  Of course I didn't say this.  I can't remember exactly what I said, but I think it was along the lines of "um...o-o-o-k-k-k..."  She of course saw my distress, and in an attempt to be compassionate she put her hands on my shoulders, looked in my eyes and very sweetly said, "Don't worry Dalia.  Just think, your Mom is ok, she survived."   "She's not ok," I responded.  And there was the problem.  The "probably nothing" had in 45 minutes turned into a huge SOMETHING, and I was not ok.

From the beginning...

So I promised in a couple of posts that I would update you on what has happened with me until now.  I have also had a lot of questions about the type of cancer I have, my pathology and my prognosis, so in the spirit of full disclosure, I have decided to start at the beginning.  It might take me a while to catch everyone up, as a lot has happened since I was diagnosed, but eventually, I will get there.  Read as much or as little as you want and please don't hesitate to ask questions, post comments or email me.  I'm still getting the hang of how to respond to people through the blog, but I will do my best to get back to everyone.  Also, I just wanted to thank everyone who has posted from as far as Israel, Mexico and Canada.  I do read the comments and am thrilled that people are digging my new do.  Maybe one of these days, I'll have the guts to wear it out of the house!  As always, thanks for reading.

Straight from the trenches,

DT

Second Chemo DONE!!

So it's 4th of July and I'm sitting here in my living room typing away rolling my head with a lint roller.  Yes, you read that right, one of the many rights of passages for a person with the big C is buying a lint roller to help you catch your hair before it sheds all over your pillow or favorite shirt.  The reality is, that rolling the adhesive tape all over your head is actually quite soothing to your head.  Helps eliminate the itchiness and tingles that come with the hair loss.  Admittedly, I would rather be out watching some fireworks or hanging at a barbeque, but for this 4th of July, I'll settle for my lint roller massage.  I know, I know, exciting right?  Not as spirited as you would hope from a girl sporting a GI Jane look.  Unfortunately, 4th of July has fallen day 3 from my chemo treatment, which means that all the wonderful side effects start to peak.  Yes, the 8 day hangover is in full hilt and though my ingenious nurse has tweaked my drugs to make the hangover more bearable, it still lingers over me, making me want to hide from the world.  Couple that with the steroid crashes and I'm basically the last person that should be surrounded by pyrotechnics and enthusiastic patriots.  I'm a little jumpy, to say the least, so for the sake of any innocent bystanders, I have chosen to stay in tonight.  In the meantime, I thought you might enjoy a couple of pictures taken by Paparazzi the day of the big shear.  Amazing what some good makeup, lighting and a good photographer will do, right?   Anyway, I promise that I will sit down and write about more than just hair loss and lint rollers, but just thought I would give you an update until the hangover gives me a break.  Thanks again for reading.

Straight from the trenches,

DT