Breaking Up With Hotsauce

My Adventures with Stomach Cancer

[winewednesdays-blog]

2 Inches Till I’m a Model.

It’s been three months since the devastating loss of one of my favorite organs. We had 33 years together, which is longer than most relationships, and in the end it was trying to kill me, so I had to say goodbye. 

People always ask me how I’m doing, and my answer is simply “surviving”. It’s been a rough go as far as recovery, but I’m surviving. I started out eating just bites of food here and there. At the constant “gentle reminding” of my parents, I was eating crackers, well, cracker. A few bites of tuna, a bite of yogurt, a bite of toast. My mom was constantly worried I wasn’t going to eat enough, get enough calories, etc. Well, what you don’t know, when I was a baby, it took me awhile to start talking. My mom was worried I was never going to speak, and look at me now...people can’t get me to shut up. So...in the same Brandy fashion, I’m working on the eating part. 

The first month out of the hospital I was eating just bites of food. Literally a bite or two if I was lucky. The second month, eating bites (3-4) at a time. Now in month three I’m eating measurements in cups. Half a cup here, 3/4 cup there. It’s progress. Slow, agonizing progress. At first I was eating out of requirement, and now, slowly, I’m enjoying the things I put in my mouth. It’s no longer just dutiful obligation, it’s sorta fun. Sure, I’m that irritating person at the restaurant that has to ask about every ingredient, and then orders off the kid menu, but I’m getting there. 

The other day I watched a video on the Victoria Secret Model diet. They get oatmeal, a piece of fruit, bland chicken or fish, a few nuts, and water. I thought to myself, “jealous! they get fruit?” because I’m literally on the same diet. So if losing my stomach has taught me anything, it’s that when I grow two inches I can be a Victoria Secret model. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

All Hunger Aside

I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written anything, so I thought I’d stop slacking. This is going to be a long post, so you might want to grab snacks now...don’t worry, I’ll wait. 

I arrived to Houston optimistic. Convinced that they were only going to remove a part of my stomach, and then I was going to spend the next few months re-stretching it out. I figured if I had to have cancer, then at least I got this weight loss surgery out of it. I was blindly optimistic. I woke up from the surgery groggy, disoriented, and confused. I had a tube in my nose that ran the length of my throat that caused irritation and discomfort everytime I had to swallow. Having a tube in your throat created more saliva which in turn required more swallowing. There was no winning the painful throat battle. I had a tube coming out of my abdomen that was going to feed me for the indefinite future. I had a thin tube in my back that was my epidural and of course mine leaked so I was only numb in sections of my stomach. I was genuinely surprised by how much I hurt. It was blinding. There’s a reason you get to push a button and have some morphine released...it was miserable. 

I heard people talking around me, but nothing really made sense. The only thing I remember them saying was that they had to remove my entire stomach. The fairy tale of a quick recovery slipped away, and I heard the disappointed exhales of my parents. I cried myself to sleep that night. 

The days that followed were a series of movements by staff that had long since fallen into a routine, and some were nicer than others. A lot of side to side motions, and sitting up and standing. There’s no pretending to be asleep to get out of these drills. You don’t have a choice. My stomach eerily looked like Frankensteins early work, and it took me a moment to catch my breath at the sight of it. 

I was in the hospital for two weeks. My parents were there everyday. Even in my sleep I heard the familiar sound of my dad opening a can of Diet Pepsi, and it brought me comfort. Getting up, walking, breathing exercies became my new routine. I definitely wasn’t great at doing it, and my surgeon complained of my unwillingness to sit up for prolong periods of time, but then again, he didn’t just have his insides ripped out and re-sewn together. However, when or if I was ever ready for a walk, I always knew I had an escort in the way of my parents. 

I was finally released from prison, er, I mean the hospital, and it felt great. I was out almost a week before my inability to tolerate the tube feedings and uncontrolled pain put me back in the hospital. They stopped the tube feedings, and started doing TPN (Total Parenteral Nutrition) through my port. It’s basically tube feeding except in runs through my veins vs my small intestine. I can’t say it was much better, but it was going to get me out of the hospital. The disappointment was heavy. I already struggled to catch my breath, but the disappointment of how everything had and was going was hard. One particular night of disappointment I called my dad, just to hear his voice. The next thing I know at 3AM he’s in my room cracking a Pepsi, and holding my hand. We fell asleep like that, and in that moment I didn’t have the weight of disappointment, and frustration. I had the snoring of my dad next to me telling me it was going to be ok. 

Once I left the hospital, my parents had to kick into overdrive. They had to learn how to feed me, how to mix the TPN, how to flush an IV line, how to set up the machines, they’re basically experts now. My mom handled the logistics like the seasoned pro she is, and my dad took me for walks. 

There will be more. I promise. I just wanted to get the surgery details out of the way. The eating part is a battle all in itself and there will be lots more to follow on that tasty subject. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

2017 Is Looking Up.

2016 was a shit year for me. I know it was for most of the country, and it’s sort of a year we all want to forget happened. 2016 changed my life. When I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I surely thought that they had my results confused with some 87 year old man, and that they should correct that quickly. In fact when he told me, it didn’t really sink in because stomach cancer sounded like a thing cows got because they have four stomachs. When it went from stage “manageable and possibly cureable” to stage “holy shit get your affairs in order” that was kind of a shock. To say I didn’t lose my shit would be a lie. I mean, I was already a vividly colorful person, (some would say emotional and irrational, but what do they know?) but to get that bomb dropped, my world turned upside down. I was like Sally Field in “Steel Magnolias” when her daughter died...which I’m pretty sure she won an Oscar for, or should have. For the younger folks, yes, spoiler alert, but also it was made in 1989, you should have educated yourself by now. 

Anyway, today was the first glimmer of good news. After 11 months of shit, I deserved some good fucking news. My surgeon told me that my cytology came back negative. In my head fireworks are being lit, but then I realize most of you might not know what that means. What took me over the edge to stage 4 were these little microscopic asshole cancer cells outside of my stomach...and now after these two rounds of hot chemo, they appear to be gone. My surgeon made sure to reiterate that this isn’t going to be a cure, but rather a real shot at a longer higher quality of life. My psychic was right, I will see my 60′s yet! Don’t judge me, when you get diagnosed with terminal cancer, you’ll see and try JUST ABOUT ANYTHING! I was like, one bad test result from seeing a shaman and drinking alpaca piss. 

So what does this mean? It means that I’m scheduled for a very invasive, miserable surgery in a month. They’re going to remove all or part of my stomach, and any cancer they can see. They’re going to try and save as much stomach as possible, but there is a real chance I’ll lose the whole thing. Here’s how that part of the conversation played out. 

Dr: Due to where your tumor is located, we’re going to try and keep as much of the stomach as possible. If we can, you’d be left with a “fist sized stomach”.

Me: Baby fist or adult lumberjack fist?

Dr: Uh...medium sized fist. 

Me: Got it, I can work with that. What happens if you remove the whole stomach?

Dr: You’ll get vitamin injections monthly for the rest of your life, and we’ll create a new stomach from your large intestine, and gradually over time, that can stretch to a “fist sized stomach”.

Me: Baby fist or adult lumberjack fist?

Dr: Uh...baby fist. 

Me: I can work with that. 

Eventually he’ll get on board with my sense of humor. 

I’ll be in the hospital for a couple of weeks, tubes coming out of every hole...literally every hole. Actually I don’t think they’ll put one in my butt, but just to be safe I’ll ask. I’ll keep you all posted. Then I’ll have a feeding tube for about 5 weeks. I’m pretty sure it’s one of those tubes you have to pure Ensure in, and not blended up country fried steak...but I could be wrong. Also, there are a whole slew of possible side effects that sounded like Charlie Brown mumbling because all I could hear was that I finally got a negative cytology report. 

So there is a lot to celebrate this month. My birthday being the obvious first thing, and the fact that I have a real shot at a longer better quality of life than previously thought. On the downside it also means I only have a month left of full sized meals, so I’ll be eating...a lot. Today is a good day. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

The In-Between Moments

To set this scene for this blog, I want you to know I’m sitting in bed, tears in my eyes, eating a piece of chocolate cake. Like a really sad version of Bridget Jones’s Diary.  

I like writing here. I like telling my story the way I want it to be heard, the way I want the world to see me. However, it would all be lies if you didn’t also know about the in between stuff. Those moments you wake up and just for a brief second forget that you have this life altering shit cancer. Before the reality of your life hits you in the face like a tidal wave of shit. It would be lies to say that sometimes I don’t stop whatever it is I’m doing and cry. Silent sobs I don’t share with the world lest they see a weaker version of me. But it’s hard. This is hard. It is the most isolating thing I’ve ever felt. Even if you’re constantly surrounded by family, friends, or lovers, there are still moments in between the mask we put on, that are just vulnerable. 

No one will ever understand it the way the person going through it understands it. This will always be my story. Whether it’s a comedy or a tragedy just depends on the people in your life. 

This second round of hot chemo was pretty rough. Multiple teary eyed dramatic filled moments of “never” statements, and a shit storm. Intense gas pain, refusing to walk, and conveniently pretending to be asleep when nurses came in the room. It was a rough couple of days. I made it home, I think, unless I’ve died and heaven is my bed and chocolate cake...which would not be the worst thing to happen. 

Now to my thank you’s for getting me through another shit round. These will get long winded, like the end of a movie where you suffer through the credits to see if there are some bloopers or outtakes at the very end...stay tuned, you never know.

Mom/Dad, Honestly, all the shit I’ve put you guys through the years, and you never waivered. To have to see your child go through this knowing there is nothing you can do about it is harder than I’ll ever know...yet you still do without skipping a beat. And yes, I’ll take all the Costco runs you’re willing to give.

Cat, thanks for being there from the beginning. You held my hand when I was asleep and even though I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t feel so alone. 

R, They say blood is thicker than water, but what we have is like tree sap. Intertwined forever in my life. I wouldn’t be smiling, or making logical decisions if it weren’t for you. 

Julie, Hanging out with you made me feel normal, and now I have the polaroids to prove it.

Mary, Proof that my uncle Ken married the right woman because her daughter, my cousin, has come to visit me everytime I’m in the hospital, and on top of that, has brought me treats. I’m so glad we’re family. 

MB, You’ve always been my rock, even when I pushed you to see if you’d collapse. You never did. You make sure I don’t feel too sorry for myself with that Wyoming attitude. Despite our physical differences, we’re family through and through. 

MD Anderson care team, thanks for not making me clean my own catheter this time...because I wasn’t going to do it. Also, thanks for having my back,,,and washing it once or twice. 

I’m sure there are people I’m forgetting, but the final credit music is ending, and I’m getting the “cut you off” sign.

Okay there is a funny blooper at the end. If you’re ever in Houston, and want to play Russian Roulette with your life, stay at the Moody Manor. Seriously, that’s what it was called, and it was terrifying. It’s just a hotel full of nightmares and nopes. I was truly terrified I was going to catch something...and I had definitely peed on myself earlier in the day.  

[winewednesdays-blog]

Birthdays

I was sitting here thinking, because that’s what you do when the four walls of human mortality come crashing down on you. Birthdays are an interesting thing. For the most part, it’s the biggest, self centered celebration people have every year. As you get older, you want to start having less and less of them...like if we ignore our birthday, father time will also forget. I think we’ve been doing it backwards this entire time. Sure, we like to celebrate landmark events, 16, 18, 21, etc. It’s always baffled me why we celebrate childrens birthdays. Like, we want to celebrate the fact that they had to do nothing for a year except exist. 

Sure, back in the old days, celebrating a birthday was a big event. Becuase, the fact that you weren’t eaten by something, killed by something, or died of cholera or dysentery was a major life event worth celebrating. Like, holy shit, you survived...didn’t really think that was going to happen after you got that cold.. 

Like, you should get a gift for the mother. It really should be their celebration. They endured what I’m assuming was a pretty excructiating experience whether you had a child naturally, or paid a ton of money to adopt (in my case), either way, you endured something very difficult. 

I’m not saying we shouldn’t celebrate birthdays. Or childrens birthday. As a person that was not only someones child, but also has yearly birthdays, I enjoy them. I just think as adults, we should celebrate the shit out of the fact that we survived another year. As somone that is constantly faced with my own mortality, my birthday has taken on a new meaning for me. Because in my case, holy shit, I actually survived another year...totally worth the over indulgent sweets. 

I guess I bring this up becuase, as you may or may not know, my birthday is in a few weeks. In case you’re wondering, yes I’m asbolutely going to live it up, and revel in the fact that despite cancers plan, I have endured another year. Feel free to send gifts...you’re never too old for gifts.

[winewednesdays-blog]

Two Weeks Later

People always ask me, why am I so funny? Okay, like six people have asked me that, and they were all over the age of 65. Doesn’t matter. I know I don’t write much of the everyday, primarily because I want you to see the version of cancer that I get to dictate. Not the minutes of agonizing constipation, or “shit, literally, there goes another pair of pants” moments. 

With that being said, these funny jokes definitely don’t write themselves. During my off time, there’s lots of self pity, questionably some bed sores, and so many seasons of tv shows that outwardly I’d lie and say were the worst, but secretly can’t wait to see what happens next on Gossip Girl. 

The last two weeks have been rough. Considerably more than the 8 rounds of traditional chemo I’ve already subjected myself to. My half skewed, drug induced logic, has me convinced that this means it has to be working. I haven’t been the typical cancer patient from the beginning. Obviously getting diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer of all things at the ripe age of 32 is pretty untraditional..if we look at statistical cancer data for women around my age. I’ve also never had chemo on time, always 4 weeks instead of 3. I’ve also always felt pretty good after a week of feeling like death, but bounced back to quippy Brandy, getting brunch. This chemo hasn’t been the same. 

My soul and cancer have always felt 87, but now, for the first time, my body is feeling it. I get winded climbing up 6 stairs, granted stairs and I have always had  a tumultuous relationship. I wake up in cold sweats, pretty much every night. You know what’s sexier than sweating through your pajamas? Yea, me either. My stomach is still sore, and it hurts every time I pee. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I know what you’re thinking, this doesn’t sound normal...I didn’t think so either. In fact, it took me to the E.R. My doctor, let’s just call him Doc Brown (think back to the future) told me I was experiencing “chemo symptoms” in the same sentence of “I’ve never treated anyone going through your type of chemo, but it sounds like chemo symptoms”. I promptly retorted with “yea, well you look like you just got back from 1985″ in my head...of course. 

So if this is normal chemo symptoms, they definitely suck. On the bright side, I have no shame in taking a break if I’m tired, even if I’m naked. Subsequently, I’m no longer allowed to order from Pizza Hut. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

Hot Chemo Spa Round 1

I don’t even know how to start this blog. So many things to get out, and if you’re anything like me, you have the attention span of a gnat. However, this blog is going to entertain. It has action, gore, a lesson on humility, and romance...jk about the romance part. If you’re looking for that, maybe pick up a Nicholas Sparks book? 

I went to Houston for the first time with my best friend Jamie. I didn’t know what to expect, and quite honestly I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to potentially piss myself in front of my parents. If you don’t think pissing yourself at 32 is a possibility, read on friends. Hence, the lesson on humility. 

I was ready for the first round. I had mentally prepped myself for feeling some discomfort, and hell, I even shaved my legs, just in case a nurse or doctor had to see them. Needless to say, I was itching to get this thing started. I show up Friday morning, mind you, I hadn’t eaten since 9PM the night before, but I kept my “hangry” at bay. Wait, before I go any further, let me paint a picture of this hospital for you. It’s like a rat maze from the 80′s except at the end you don’t get cheese, trust me, I asked. Old hospital, brilliant minds. 

So I get into a room, get into my birthday suit, put on the backless gown, and sit there. Imagine you’re riding a roller coaster, and those moments at the top right before you peak to start the roller coasting, you get those butterflies of anticipation? It was like that, except instead of moments of anticipation it was like 4 hours. 4 HOURS! Finally the surgical team comes in, start an IV with what I can only describe as a rusty nail, and wheel me off. Keep in mind I went to sleep with one rusty nail in my hand, and that’s it. 

I woke up with three IV’s, and a tube coming out of my crotch. A TUBE. Also, it’s not one of those fun things you tug on, trust me on this. I also had the largest distended gut I’ve ever seen, and holy shit, was I in pain. My stomach was so round I couldn’t even see my crotch if I wanted to. I was cut, bruised, burnt, and miserable. How older patients tolerated this, is beyond me. I’ve never been one to do sit-ups unless forced or I’m “sitting up” to eat, so the fact that it was so painful was astonishing. It felt like, I had been running and got a side cramp, but all over. Sharp, stabbing, can’t catch your breath pain. 

So after sitting in the PACU for over four hours waiting for a room to open up, I was finally in one. They tossed me in the bed in a similar fashion that baggage handlers toss your luggage. Checked me for bed sores...everywhere. Literally, everywhere. Gave me some pain meds, and the rest of the night is a bit fuzzy. Fast forward to about 3:45 AM they came in, stuck me in the arm to draw labs, and the nurse informed me it was time to clean my catheter. Let me set the stage for you. 4AM, groggy on pain meds, hugely distended stomach, pain. My stomach was so big I couldn’t even see my crotch, let alone be responsible for my own catheter care. It was like a game of pin the tail on the donkey. I honestly don’t even know if I got it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. 

The rest of the hospital stay was pretty uneventful. Aside from being in constant gas pain without being able to pass any, I survived. Oh, and to come full circle, when the nurse finally removed my catheter I definitely peed all over...didn’t even try to stop it, just let it happen. 

All in all I’d have to say the whole experience was pretty miserable, and I’ve signed myself up to do it again on March 22. On a side note, I’m pretty sure this is going to work...because with this much pain, it had better. 

*Editors note: I’m sure the nursing and medical staff were a lot gentler than I let on, however, in my brain, I felt like baggage...and not even the first class baggage, like the baggage they forgot about and then quickly had to throw on the plane. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

Slowly Adding in Some Heat.

After typing in the title to this post, I realized it could mean a lot of things. You know, since I’m doing hot chemo that could potentially prolong my life...but don’t get too excited, it’s about food. Let’s face it, I have the soul and now the cancer of an 80 year old fat kid. Except now, my outside is very quickly matching my soul, and gaining weight is the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life...where are you now asian weight losing genes? 

Anyway, I digress. If you know me at all, you know I love spicy food. From the second I tasted that “hair on your chest” tobasco, I knew I was hooked. Also, if your father never told you that eating spicy food would put hair on your chest, he probably didn’t grow up with a strong Idaho farming family. Back to my story. So I love spicy food. Even though, well into adulthood, I’d still check to make sure I didn’t wake up with a full chest of hair. You never know. 

This past year I have given up spicy things. As made evidenced by the title of this entire blog, it’s been a big struggle. Hardest. Breakup. Ever. Since starting chemo, stomach symptoms have, for the most part, subsided. I have traded sleeping upright for weeks, and constant stomach pain for injected toxic chemicals and a week of agony. Fair trade, right? Well, I’ve started feeling a bit more brave. Like 8 rounds of chemo means I can start having spicy things right? The answer is a blaring, Mylanta chugging, NO. 

Here’s what happened. I bought some Chorizo to add some “spice” to my breakfast tacos. The fact that Chorizo is now considered “spicy” in my world tells you how far I’ve gone down the “no spice” rabbit hole. Sure, my doctor might contest that it wasn’t the Chorizo spice, it was in the fact the pork that caused my stomach distress, but it was Whole Foods Chorizo which has absolutely nothing to do with the meat content but in my mind it’s healthier so I’m negating her thought process. (sorry for that incredibly long run on sentence but you needed to understand how these thoughts run through my mind...in very long run on sentences). So...I cooked up this said Chorizo, added to boring bland eggs and a tortilla, and ate it down. Needless to say there is a rumbling in my gut and Mylanta in my hand. Truly the most disheartening morning I’ve had in awhile. But was it worth it? Absolutely. 

Also, completely unrelated, if you talk to my parents, wish them luck while getting stuck taking care of Atticus. This 3.5 pound, 12 year old yorkie is working them. Hard. Like what pubescent teenagers try to do to substitute teachers, he’s working the system. I keep trying to explain to them that, giving him is “small batch, non grain, organic, protein rich” dry kibble will be enough. Or he’ll starve to death. Which means he wasn’t meant to live...which is what I’ve been telling him for years! They aren’t listening to me. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

Lucky Chemo 8

Well I’m over the shitty hump of this last chemo. I genuinely think it’s the last one before Houston. Like a terrible breakup, cancer has been a real dick. Always throwing in wrenches when I least expect them, and never letting me have a moment of peace. 

When I think about this being my last round, it’s almost bittersweet. Am I going to miss being pumped full of toxic chemicals (literally my nurse wears a hazmat suit to inject this shit)? Of course I am. Who doesn’t love being a walking hazardous waste dump? The facility is nothing to speak of...sure, it reminds me of the hospital that builds the nightmares of children, but it works. 

As a separate story, the floor where I get my chemo is currently working on a gas line...I’m sure the appropriate safety measures have been taken as it’s been roped off with what I’ll assume is flame retardant material...anyway, I bet the elderly woman who’s room is next to said gas line construction is shitting her pants! If that were my room, I’d be like “screw it, this is how I end!” I’m going to give you a minute to let that sink in....because I laughed about that for at least ten minutes. 

Anyway, back to what makes this last chemo sad. It’s the people. I’ve seen and talked to my care team more than most of my family, and in a way they’ve become friends. Like one sided friends, where you think you’re like best buddies, but then you ask them to get tacos they nervously shift away from you sort of friends. Anyway, they’ve become an integral part of my life. I seek their advice, mostly for Falls latest fashion trends, but a few cancer questions pop up. They understand me in intimate ways that I truly hope no one else does, and they’re all around the best care team I could ever ask for. They have made this cancer shit bearable, they’ve returned smiles when I felt like they were gone, and helped me find my humor again. If nothing else comes from this, and it doesn’t prolong my life, I will have been bettered by the fact that I was able to call them “my team”. 

Also, is it approrpriate to hug your doctors? Are we at that level? Also, do you do the full on bear hug, or the awkward side hug? I can’t tell. I’m a bear hugger, but what if it lingers too long, and then my doctor gets weird, and I can sense she’s werid about it, so I hug longer making it worse... These are the thoughts that consume me at night. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

The Heaviness.

Cancer is a real dickhead. I know that for the millions of people out there suffering with it, it has become our new normal. It has become as much of a part of us as breathing, and yet it’s still the heaviest part of my life. When I used to tell people I have stage 4 cancer it would swell in my throat, like a lump that was biting back tears and choking me at the same time. Even now I catch myself off guard at the harshness of the words. People act differently around you when they find out you have cancer, like if you sneeze on them they run a risk of catching it. The cancer “virus” that’s spread from one snotty finger to another. Generally they’re nicer to me. I’m ok with this. I enjoy the people that look at me in disbelief. Like they’re trying to figure out how a stage 4 cancer patient could possibly eat another order of wings, yet there I am. 

True story, not that long ago I was downtown with a friend for a Utah refugee fundraiser. Why they decided to have it on a bitter cold night is beyond me, like refugees haven’t suffered enough. Anyway, we get out of the car and we’re approached by a woman that was clearly homeless, and on drugs of some kind, asking for money. She said she had a leg wound that needed some medical attention, and wanted to know if we wanted to see it. Uh, duh, of course we do. She pulls up her pant leg, and the look of horror that ran through our faces was only matched by what we saw. Literally she had an open, let me repeat that, OPEN leg wound. This went all the way through the muscle tissue. Appalled, my friend (who is a PA) very directly told this woman to get medical attention, and I gave her the few dollars I had in my wallet. 

It made me think...this woman, has clearly had a rough life. Dragged down by heaviness that is her life and at this point gangrene, could possibly outlive me. Life is a tricky bastard like that. We start out with the best of intentions, and then shit happens. Life happens. 

I guess my final thought is; if cake is an option, always take it. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

Houston, We’re a Go.

Since learning that surgery wasn’t an option in my homestate, I’ve been researching options elsewhere. When I say researching options, I mean, allowing my amazing medical team to find me clinical trials that I can be a part of. One particular study is in Houston for patients with my EXACT type of cancer. After weeks of negotiating back and forth between the VA and the MD Anderson Center, and another round of chemo, it’s time to go to Houston for the consult. 

Great news right? Absolutely. Logistical nightmare? Hell yes. Who knew traveling out of state for your potentially life saving treatment could be such a pain in the ass. Luckily my friends are fantastic at logistics and specialize in making magic happen, so I’m going to sit back, and eat this sandwich. 

Also, huge props to my friends and family for their support. Not only have they taken care of me, but they have supported me through all of my brilliant, and not so brilliant moments. I love them.

[winewednesdays-blog]

The Options

Finding out you have cancer is, well, shitty. Finding out you have incurable cancer is consumingly soul sucking. So I guess it’s time to come up with a game plan. 

Option 1. Continue getting chemo indefinitely until I either kick the bucket, or it’s no longer safe to give me chemo. All this would do is manage symptoms until I die. I know what you’re thinking, sounds like a great plan, right? 

Option 2. Try and participate in a Phase 2 study of cytoreduction, gastrectomy, and hyperthermic intraperitoneal chemoperfusion (HIPEC) in patients with gastic adenocarcinoma and carcinomatosis or positive cytology. Yea, it’s a mouthful. Basically it would entail surgery, and during surgery delivering hot chemo into the abdomen to try and control the spread of the disease. It could potentially extend my life span a few years. 

Obviously option 2 sounds like the best one...live a little longer, see more things, spend more time with friends, and eat more food. However, the logistical nightmare of all of that is messy. So if any of my 8 followers knows Oprah, now is a good time to use that connection.... 

I always thought it would be the indiscretions of my youth that would be my ultimate demise, but it turns out, it’s cancer. 

Don’t worry, the dying jokes will come later. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

Surgery, A No-Go

I got the official word today that surgery wasn’t going to be an option. They didn’t want to ruin my quality of life with a procedure that wasn’t going to prolong it. So we’re back in limbo. 

I mean, on the bright side I can still eat full meals, and we all know how important food is to me. 

There isn’t any research on someone my age, with this advanced type of cancer, so we’re breaking new ground. It’s always exciting to be the first at something right? I’m the Neil Armstrong of stomach cancer research on young healthy people. 

I mainly feel bad for my parents. They should really reach out to Holt Adoption Agency and ask for a refund....they got the defective one. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

The Easy Road

I’ve never been one to take the easy road. On anything. Ever. In fact, when you see that person in movies that has to choose between two paths, and one is sunny and bright, and the other looks like a nightmare filled with horrors and death....I take that road. Everytime. You’d think time and life lessons would have taught me by now, but that doesn’t seem to be the case, and this cancer seems to agree. 

If you recall, I had a staging laparoscopy done around six months ago, and that’s the thing that pushed me over the edge from stage three to stage four. Little, tiny, microscopic cancer cells that are living outside of my gut. Well it seems that they’re lingering. I got the results from my second staging lap, and it turns out, those little buggers aren’t going anywhere. It has now shifted my chemo from aggressive to palliative, and a very different life plan. 

Don’t worry though, I saw a psychic and she told me I was going to live well into my 60′s, and as far as reliability, she’s never steered me wrong. 

This means that surgery may not be an option. And even worse, for the last six months I’ve been trying to gain weight in hopes of surgery, and now that it might not be an option, I’m just stuck being a pudgy little panda. BECAUSE LIFE COULD NOT GET ANY WORSE!!!! It’s already bad enough that I have cancer, but now I’m chubby on top of that? The cruelty that is life. I don’t think cancer patient and chubby have ever gone together, and yet here I am defying the rules. 

So I’ll just keep trucking along. Taking the hardest, longest, toughest road, and still coming out on top...because I love the glory. It’s not a win unless it’s an underdog “Rudy” sort of win. I’ll crawl through the shit and come out Shawshank Redeemed at the end of this if it kills me...which technically it could. Too soon for a dying joke? 

[winewednesdays-blog]

The Suckage of 2016

So 2016 has really sucked. Like, in epic proportions suck. It’s the Voldemort of the decade. Or the year that cannot be mentioned. 

With that being said, I’m still thankful for a lot of things. I’m closer with my friends than I have ever been (mostly due to the fact that I force them to pay attention to me), I’ve eaten well, all of the negative influences in my life are gone, and aside from the ever growing tumor in my stomach, I’m happy. I’ve picked up Christmas gifts, I have a plethora of warm sweaters, and I have someone making me smile again. Adulting for the win.

I meet with my surgeon today to discuss my upcoming staging laparoscopy, and with that will be able to start moving forward with a plan. If I get to move forward with surgery, I’m going to request a lightning bolt for a scar. Mostly for the cool stories I’ll be able to make up later. Don’t worry 7 blog followers, I’ll keep you updated. 

[winewednesdays-blog]

Gaining Weight, and Last Meals

My doctors have said to me, you should gain a little weight. It’ll make surgery a lot easier. OK! The easiest thing I have ever had to do is gain weight. 

Server: Oh, you’re getting a second dinner?

Me: Yea, my CANCER doctor said I need to gain weight. Back off Becky, and bring me my chicken strips. 

Okay, that hasn’t happened yet, but in my mind that’s how it plays out. I’m chuckling about it right now. 

Anyway, because of the high possibility of losing my stomach in the upcoming month, I’ve realized I have a limited amount of full meals left. Before I go on the “you have no stomach diet”, I’m eating all the things, and drinking all the drinks.  It’s glorious.  

[winewednesdays-blog]

Friendsgiving 2016

Sometimes when you have the best friends in the world, those friends get together to give you the best friendsgiving ever. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year. There are no obligatory gifts, or cheesy sweaters, it’s just food and stretchy pants. It’s a day of eating. And somewhere in there giving thanks or whatever. 

This year my friends flew from all over the country to eat with me. To share in my favorite holiday. My heart was happy and full. Really full. Mostly from love, but also turkey. I generally have no problems exploiting the cancer card to get what I want, but this time, it was absolutely worth it. The best thing cancer has done for me thus far was bring the people I love the most out to share in a meal with me. Totally worth it.