Future Cancer Survivor : Same Girl...Less Hair

A week before my 30th birthday I was diagnosed with Stage IV Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Since then I have been through 6 cycles (12 treatments) of ABVD chemo and 20 treatments of radiation. I am now in remission. Life after Cancer.

[hedonistbyheart]

The brothers Green being cute.

[remissionpossible]

Hank Green having the same cancer I did is wild.

[remissionpossible]

I got a little reminder on my calendar today: Cancerversary. Its been 10 years since I was diagnosed with Stage IV Hodgkin's lymphoma. Soon it will be 10 years since I ended treatment and was officially declared in remission. I know I'm lucky. I'm still here. But I don't really feel like celebrating today. Maybe its the cold and rainy spring day that makes me feel so somber. Maybe its the failed IVF cycle we just had. Maybe its the impending big birthday I have coming up. Whatever it is, I feel like I want to spend this day cuddled on the couch with my dog and not deal with the world. So I'll post this and do my best to work through the feelings I have. I'll remember all the people we've lost along the way. And I'll probably binge watch a terrible TV show with my dog.

[remissionpossible]

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Check out this fucking awesome clothing for cancer patients and survivors!

I could have used some of those picc line covers and port access shirts. There’s even a hoodie designed by Oscar de la Renta because you’re fancy AF and deserve awesome clothes that make you feel good!

[remissionpossible]

It’s been 9 years since I got the news. Definitely a weird thing to celebrate but I do because I get to look back on how far I’ve come. 9 years of surviving.

[hoechemo]

A New Beginning

A New Beginning - Dedicated to Caregivers 

Written by Aura Brickler in response to a journal prompt on April 13, 2020

My new beginning has yet to happen. 

I don’t know much about it, but I know it will come with a bang. I know it will hurt like hell even though I have braced myself for years. Some days it feels like I sit and wait for it, daydreaming about what it will feel like. It can show up like a slow motion video of a head on collision; as a family comes into focus I realize it is ours. Other times it looks like a storm way off in the distance; a disastrous cloud over an Idaho mountain range, while we’re being spared a few last rays of the sun’s light. When it happens I will scream and cry and whisper to myself, “but you had so much time to prepare.” 

I will begin again in a suffocating state of mourning. I will smile at others and assure them that I am okay. I will agree that he’s better off not suffering, that he is no longer laboring to find each and every single breath. I will hope with all of my might that there is an afterlife, one that has offered him eternal peace after so much pain. I will begin again wanting more than ever to believe in the narrative of heaven because what else do you tell your young child about where her father goes when his body dies? I will likely tell her that he lives among the stars now, always hovering over her, and when the night sky is the darkest, she’ll see him the most. 

I will begin again as someone with a lot of regrets. The idea of living every day as if it is the last fades after 3206 days of trying hard to do so. Cancer has a way of digging in and dragging along. It grabs you by your weaknesses and makes you beg for an ounce of strength. It gnaws at the foundation of your collective hopes and dreams, allowing despair to fill in the cracks. I will begin again and learn how to forgive.

I will begin again as a narrator, telling stories to keep him close to us. Telling tall tales that protect our daughter from the parts of the story that are too painful. I imagine being left in a fog of uncertainty, fear, and confusion. When the fog begins to lift, I will begin again as grateful - for what we had and what, of him, I still have. I will begin each day like I do now, with a cup of coffee. I will begin again as a widow.

In loving memory of my husband, Bret Hoekema, who traded suffering for surrender on January 6th, 2021. He left us too soon but his presence carries on with such tenacity that he will never be just a memory. 

[remissionpossible]

I cannot imagine the pain of this loss.

That’s not quite true. I absolutely can imagine it which is why it hits me so hard. I’ve had friends who have lost partners and I’ve lost dear friends.

Cancer has a way of digging in and dragging along. It grabs you by your weaknesses and makes you beg for an ounce of strength. It gnaws at the foundation of your collective hopes and dreams, allowing despair to fill in the cracks.

God I hate this disease. I live mostly now in the land of remission. My diagnosis and treatment a not so distant memory. I am constantly aware of it in my rear view mirror. I’m aware of how lucky we were and still are to still be here. And then I think of those that weren’t so lucky and I know I’ll never truly outrun it, but I’ll take a part of them with me as I go.

[remissionpossible]

I’m trying to put into words how sad I am today. Yesterday we found out that our amazing friend Bret @hoechemo passed away after a 10 year battle with cancer. I first met Bret through Tumblr. I was newly diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma and I was searching for someone, anyone who was going through the same thing. Bret’s blog was beautiful. He was an amazing writer, so caring, so honest. I didn’t feel so alone. I followed him and soon he followed me and we eventually messaged with words of support for our respective journeys. Even though we were both diagnosed with the same cancer, we’ve had such different experiences. His cancer came back, multiple times. This photo is from when we actually met in NYC. He and his wife Aura were in town to go to Sloan Kettering for I believe his second stem cell transplant and they were kind enough to to spend the afternoon with us. I was in the middle of my radiation treatments. He had gone through that and more so we all traded war stories. In a month I would finish my final cancer treatment and life would go back to normal. Although that as a cancer survivor is tricky in itself to navigate. Bret’s stem cell treatment would beat back the cancer, but leave him fighting a multitude of other problems that it caused. Yet through it all, I followed his journey. Aura and Bret have a beautiful 4 year old daughter named Evie, who is sweet, and smart, and funny. She tells amazing jokes. I’m at a loss as to how to put into words how sorry I am for their loss. Bret was caring and kind. His heart was open and honest. I’ll miss his writing, his excellent taste in music, and knowing that he was simply in the world. This loss has been hitting me in waves today and I will be feeling this for a while.

Hug your loved ones. Tell them you love them. Life is too short.

@erin-hart @hoechemo @awnerd

[remissionpossible]

It’s that special time of year - mammogram time! Take care of those boobies ladies! It’s only a couple of squeezes and really not that uncomfortable or scary.

In all seriousness I’ve been getting a yearly mammogram since I was 30. This year I’m the same age as my mom when she got breast cancer so it’s more important than ever to be proactive with preventative care. I just finished my mammogram and I’m emailing my doctor about a breast MRI since I have dense breasts, a family history, my own cancer history and radiation aimed at the chest.

[remissionpossible]

Ten Years

Ten Years

[remissionpossible]

I apparently really don’t post to this page often anymore. Once again it’s my cancerversary! 8 years! So much more to celebrate despite this strange time we find ourselves in. Another year here. A new apartment in a nice neighborhood. Amazing friends and family. I’m healthy, no cancer scares. I got to travel this year, which may not happen again for a long time. We are financially ok during all this Coronavirus stuff because Andy has a great job and has already been working from home. We have a new puppy- 15 week old mini golden doodle named the Marvelous Miss Maisel or Maisie for short. We take lots of walks to get fresh air and exercise. I can’t get tested, but I’m over a 13 day fever so might have immunity or whatever that means. We are surviving. It’s amazing how much cancer has prepared me for this. The structured hand washing and sanitizing. The ability to celebrate little victories - I finally secured an instacart delivery, Maisie went poop outside, etc. I’m used to the feeling of waiting. I hate it, but I’ve found ways of managing it. And I can deal with it now. It’s not easy, it’s not fun, but I know I can make it through whatever comes and I have the tools to figure it out. Anyway, I found a place that delivers gin so I’ll be celebrating tonight.

Also worth celebrating, tonight marks 72 hours of no fever so I can finally touch my husband and sleep in my bed after this possible covid scare. I was traveling and then quarantined so it’s been a month since we’ve been within 6 feet! I just really need a hug.

[remissionpossible]

Happy Cancerversary to ME!!

Seven years ago on a beautiful April day, a week before my 30th birthday, I was told that I had cancer. I went through 6 months of chemo, 20 treatments of radiation, the 2 port placements and removals, and 1 week in isolation in the hospital due to an infection. Because of cancer, we’ve made friends (looking at you my Cancer-5K peeps) and we’ve lost friends.  We’ve lost too many friends. It’s been over 6 years since I’ve been in remission and almost 2 years since my doctor said I was considered cured.  It's odd to celebrate something so painful and horrific, but I do. I celebrate because I’m still here. And I celebrate because I love cake. And I’ll take any excuse to have cake.  Someone buy me a cake.

[bulbiedorf]

Dear People Who Smoke

I don’t know if you have considered this but stop smoking in areas where people are forced to wait at. Don’t smoke at crosswalks. Don’t smoke outside doorways. Don’t smoke at bus stops. People with asthma or other breathing conditions or people that idk DON’T WANT TO BREATHE IN YOUR CIGARETTE SMOKE are trying to get to places and need to be able to breathe. Stop smoking in crowded areas. stop smoking in crowded areas. STOP FORCING NONSMOKERS TO SECOND HAND SMOKE. 

[bethany-sensei]

This may be news to some people, but this applies to marijuana too.

[awnerd]

Anyone who has had radiation therapy for cancer is at elevated risk for developing a wide range of cancers due to environmental smoke exposure — for the rest of their lives.

You might think that it’s far fetched that there’s any chance that you might be walking down the sidewalk in front of one of those people. But you’d be very wrong. In 2016, there were over 3 million people who had managed to not die for five years after receiving live-saving radiation therapy. Blood cancers, bone cancers, lung cancers, breast cancers…

You almost certainly walked past someone today. And if you were smoking, you literally made their life worse.

I know you didn’t know.

But now you do.

[remissionpossible]

Saying goodbye to NYC is going to be very hard... especially on beautiful summer nights like this. (at Frying Pan & Pier 66 Maritime)

[hoechemo]

Morning Notes

I want to share an encouraging morning note written to me by my friend Todd (visiting from Seattle). It’s a great reminder for anyone staring down the insurmountable and wondering whether to walk on, retreat or to just lay down and stop.

It’s been an incredibly tough week—a week in which I often feel so far from the best version of myself and so far from having any semblance of control in my life. The week has asked for the very best I have to offer even when I can’t walk from my chair to my bed without my call button and a subsequent rest. Todd’s word’s come across my hospital tray when needed most.

“It’s good to see you, despite the circumstances. What I’m encouraged by is your determination. I don’t know that I’ve seen such deep determination in my life, at least not up close and emanating from a good friend. It’s brilliant to behold. I recognize part of it is impatience, understandable impatience, but much of it seems to be an inuring of yourself to the task ahead. A hungry, healthy determination. Amis writes you know you’re encountering experience when a cliche hits you with all the force of its original meaning. Yes, I am struck by the profundity of “healthy determination.” There are worse things I could be struck by.

What’s inspiring to see and hear is how you control a room. I was a fly on the wall (a working fly–a busy bee?) while you underwent OT and was fascinated several times by how you gave direction, and by how unabashedly honest you were with how you felt physically and psychologically. And how honest about what you wanted. That’s a gift. An earned gift, clearly. Overhearing that, one can’t really say to you, “I’m glad you’re getting the care you need.” Instead one must say, “I’m glad you’re overseeing the care you need.” There’s obviously no better person for the job. And when you detailed last night how you keep your mind in shape for the task of steering your ship, you shed light on an entirely new perspective. I saw you as I see a focused athlete or an actor preparing to go on stage. A hunter settling in active, ready stillness awaiting his prey. What a sight. I thought you should know I admire that and I admire you.” … To help with childcare and recovery: https://www.youcaring.com/brethoekemaandaurabrickler-1182163

[remissionpossible]

6 year Cancerversary. 5 years remission.

[remissionpossible]

6 years ago! Damn I look tired. I think at that point I was itching so much I couldn’t sleep and I was coughing to the point of vomiting most nights. I didn’t have insurance so I was going to free clinics and there is only so much they can do. Affordable healthcare should be available to everyone. I will fight anyone who disagrees with that- like I will literally fight them. As soon as my health insurance kicked in (well a month after because I was too scared) I found my doctor. This pic is from the day that I met my doctor. She put me at ease and promised to take it seriously and ordered an xray and CT. A week later I had a diagnosis. I was probably scared out of my mind in this pic at what they were going to find, but I was also extremely excited that someone had promised to get to the bottom of it and help me. I felt like I was crazy. I knew something was wrong, but no one would take it seriously. Big lesson there folks: Take your health seriously. And find a doctor who you trust. Still its the most stylish hospital gown I’ve seen.... and I’ve seen a lot.

[remissionpossible]

Five years ago I finished all treatments! I was happy to be done!

[remissionpossible]