The time has come: NO more WIGS!

It's been a week and a half since my last post so I figured it was time for an update.

First things first, WOW my hair is growing so fast.

Check this out: 

It's coming in super thick and super blonde! I'm so excited. I went to a big ole FoCo festival with the kiddo this weekend and I went wig-less. I actually haven't been wearing a wig at all this weekend. It's so freeing to not have it on. And talk about way more comfortable. Maybe it's time to say goodbye to the wigs!

It's a struggle because I can't deny that I feel different without my long hair. It's been more of a hardship since I hit remission. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe because my life is slowly going back to normal and this lack of hair is a constant reminder of what I suffered through this spring? 

It's hard to say but I'm sure that's part of it. Now that I feel normal, I want to LOOK normal too. No wigs. No facades at work. It's been a pain in the ass trying to remember what wig I wore to teach in or to my classes. Most of my fellow instructors know so at least that barrier is down but I've kept it to myself otherwise. I think I'll just show up and tell my students I had a bad hair day and got rid of all my hair. Or I rolled around in gum. Or just don't say anything at all. We make a lot of jokes in the classroom so maybe I'll just make a joke of it and that's that. "You'd never guess how crazy my Labor Day weekend was!" Or something. Either way, no more wigs starting officially tomorrow!

It's not like when I was sick that I was happy about being an albino hairless woman (my own analogy for how I felt) but it didn't bother me to the extent it did once I was better. I've found myself, not even joking, staring longingly at old pictures of my hair.

Oh, my hair. How I loved thee. So long and wonderful. It was like a shampoo commercial. 

Talk about identity problems. Way back before I lost my hair, I made an uplifting post about taking back my power by making the initial cut myself. And I did. And it was great. I still mean every word of it.  

And let's get real. I had far more important things to worry about then. Fighting cancer. Suffering from chemo. Parenting with a tumor. (Sounds like a bad self help book) And so on.

Not that I don't have important things going on now. I do. And they're huge. Teaching for the first time (which is going great and I love it,) graduate courses, moving to a new state, unpacking, and everything else. It'd just be nice to have my hair along for the ride.

But it is back, just not what it was before. It's growing super fast. I have the beginnings of a cute pixie cute. Every day it's looking more normal. I look kinda hardcore actually which is so not me but hey, I'll roll with it. I mean check this out- this is the hair exactly 14 weeks post chemotherapy:

Notice that my eyebrows and my eyelashes are completely back to normal. My eyelashes are even more full than they were before which is neat. So starting tomorrow, I'm not wearing wigs anymore. I'm sick of dealing with them and it's time to finally feel back to normal. Even if my hair doesn't look the same it's still MY hair. I'll rock the pixie cut and be proud of it.

Other than hair, recovery is getting there one step at a time. The neuropathy sucks the most and gives me the most trouble. The mornings are the hardest with the neuropathy and the fatigue. I have an appointment with the Survivorship Clinic next Tuesday that they say will help. I'm not even sure what they're going to do- some physical therapy, seeing different doctors, etc. I still have tons of pain and tenderness in the scar where my port was- they might be able to help with that too. The scar is so big and ugly- I honestly wouldn't mind it though if it didn't ache and sting all the time. So strange. 

On a far less optimistic note, I think I'm suffering from cancer survivor P.T.S.D. I already had a feeling that this was the case since my final PET scan made me feel utterly panicked but my last doctor's appointment totally reinforced that. The nurse was just taking my blood pressure and it totally freaked.me.out. Like I wanted to rip my arm out of the cuff and jump out of the window. Kind of like a Looney Tune. All it reminded me of was that one night I spent in the hospital from neutropenic fever when my blood pressure kept dropping, dropping, dropping... And they almost put me on the side of the hospital, as I so eloquently put it, where they send people to die.

(That's seriously not really the case but you know my bad sense of humor has to work its way in. I really don't think they send people there to die.. haha)

That night they (my awesome nurse, Megan specifically) took my blood pressure every 30-60 minutes (something like that, it's a blur now) and pumped me full of fluids. I remember the next day my face was so puffy that I didn't even recognize myself. That was the lowest point of the entire stretch of chemotherapy. The lowest point- I don't think there was anything much worse than those few days in the hospital. That night was one of the most scariest moments for me. 

And all it took to bring me back to that place was just having my blood pressure taken?

Wooooah, buddy. Good thing I don't have to go to the doctor often. Nice lady I talked to at the clinic told me the first year is the hardest. I'm seeing that is the case. I hope over time little things like having my blood pressure taken won't give me the shivers like it does now.

Time, time, time.

Like any traumatic event you just have to make peace with it. To distract yourself, talk about it, meet others with the same worries, whatever it takes. I'm not sure what I need to do yet to heal. Do I need to talk about it? Do I need to just try to forget about it?

Each day I want something different. I think for now, writing about it is the best medicine for me.

My goal for winter break is to start turning this blog into a book. I can't think of a better way to take this traumatic life event and make it into something positive. 

Nerves, nerves, nerves.

Nerves! Who needs 'em right?

Those things aren't important... are they?

Well, apparently they friggen are. Super important. Especially the ones in your feet and legs.

And guess what? Having six rounds of five days of straight chemotherapy drugs (five drugs to be exact) being pumped into your jugular vein is going fuck up your nerves.

Yeah, it got rid of the cancer. And that's peachy. It really is. I'm grateful to be alive. I'm grateful to be in remission.

But it sucks to know that I'm going to be living with all these long term issues because of it.

Doctors have a lovely little term for this nerve pain/damage/numbness. Let's get technical here.

The nerves that are the farthest away from your brain are called peripheral nerves. Chemo hates those nerves. Like really hates it. It walks up and punches them in the throat.

The fancy term for this nerve damage is chemotherapy-induced peripheral neuropathy.

And let me tell you, it's pure hell. It's worse in the morning and at night. I wake up in the morning and it feels like my feet- especially in my ankles- are in a vice grip. The ache is so deep it feels like my bones are going to shatter. I can barely walk and I have to hobble my way around the house until it finally lessens up. That's just the morning.

Now the rest of the day it's not too bad until evening unless I have to do some serious walking. That's when the pain begins in earnest. It travels up from my feet into my lower calves and my knees. It's so hard to describe nerve pain. It's different than muscle pain. It's deeper and much more shattering.

So that being said, this whole thing has me pretty grumpy. I'm going to be seeing the doctor again for this ASAP because it appears to be getting worse instead of better. There's no known medicine that really works (from what I've been told) for it but I find that a lame answer. There's gotta be something.

Survivorship is a bittersweet thing isn't it? We're so lucky to be alive. But we're left with this shaken up life that we did not have before. How do you go back to how you were before when you find yourself experiencing all these physical disabilities that you have no idea how to cope with? How do you communicate this to others? Especially in the work place?

Invisible disabilities are the worst.

The only plus side is I get a three year handicap tag for my pain and suffering. This wasn't a big deal in Wisconsin but in a place like Fort Collins this is HUGE. Parking here is a nightmare. Hence why everyone rides bikes. So thankfully, we get the hookup everywhere we go. If we decide to go for lunch in Old Town we can literally park on the same block as where we're going. Which is just down right rare in this area. It definitely comes in handy on campus too- it's an absolute lifesaver. So there's one perk!

In other, less grumpy news, I have a hair update for you!. It's coming in fast. At this point I'm pretty much done with wigs. They're ten times more uncomfortable than they were without any growing hair and I frankly don't give a damn anymore. I really don't. I've navigated the hard task of deciding whether to inform my new work and confided in a few of my colleagues and supervisors. Everyone has been real neat about it so far. No big surprise really- us English folks are empathetic folks. Most of the time. I don't plan on telling my students- I just don't think that conversation needs to happen in the classroom. Especially when I'm overwhelming them with information in their freshman year. I might just show up without a wig one day and say, "Woah! I got a haircut!" and that's that.

All the little things you never thought you'd have to deal with. It's stressful.

But viola! Check out my hairs! At the point of this picture we're officially 12.5 weeks out from my last chemotherapy treatment.

We're getting there!!

New Oncologist, Survivor Musings, and More Hair Growth.... This is a lengthy one folks.

One part of our awesome and exciting move to Colorado is less than exciting and awesome... at least because I don't want to deal with it.

Setting up with a new oncologist and cancer clinic here in Fort Collins.

That's not anything personal. At this point I would love to never see a cancer center again. I'm sure that's a normal response.

BUT

I love my new oncologist. She's funny, compassionate, and smart as hell. I decided to go though the giant umbrella of the University of Colorado Health. One big advantage of living in a big town: big time resources, baby. The biggest upside to that? Having an oncologist that ONLY works with patients with your cancer. Specialists for us special folks. My doctor only works with the blood cancer people.

POP QUIZ. Why is lymphoma considered a blood cancer?

I'm sure you're dying to know so I'll tell you. The lymph nodes are part of the lymphatic system which is a network of dudes that are a crucial part of the immune system because they carry fluid (such a gross term) that contains your white BLOOD cells. 

Ahhhhh. Makes sense now doesn't it? So basically, in my case, my thymus (strange little organ that no one has ever heard of that's part of that lymphatic system) decided it wanted to grow a big ole tumor. Since it sprung from my lymph nodes which are essential to white blood cell traveling (is that a real science term?) my cancer was a blood cancer. And because the type of tumor cells were b-cell and the thymus is in the chest its fancy name is Primary Mediastinal (fancy word for chest) Large (because that bastard tumor was huge) B-Cell Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

Anyways.

And the clinic itself was gigantic. My nurse navigator is great. She was on the ball and called me before my appointment to go over some of my records. She sat through the appointment with me and took notes and made helpful suggestions. The resources there are kick ass. They have a Survivorship Clinic that will be calling me next week to set up a day of physical therapy, exercise, and a general 'get well' plan to recover myself from that nasty ball busting chemo I had.There's an exercise program to help fatigue which is nice. Tons of classes, support groups, and meditation learning as well. I might hit up one of the support groups but I'm not sure yet if I feel like 'connecting' with anyone or if I'll go with my traditional route of repressing my emotions and then oversharing on my blog later on.

So here is my plan going forward: I'm going to meet with my oncologist every three months for blood work. In my blood they're going to be checking my overall health, blood cell counts, and looking for cancer markers. Basically your blood can do freaky things if your cancer comes back so they'll be watching for that. Every six months I'll have a CAT scan of my entire lymphatic system. So not just the chest area but all those stinking lymph nodes. Seems like a good plan and I'm just thrilled that I only need a scan every six months as opposed to three. I hate scans. PTSD anyone? Scanxiety is a thing. 

We covered my after chemo issues and she confirmed my suspicions that all the extreme ankle, foot, and leg pain I get on a daily basis (usually worse at morning and night) is caused by neuropathy. Basically, my nerves are all screwed up from the chemo. It's a form of nerve damage that often shows up in your hands and feet the most. Solution? Not one thing except that annoying 'it will get better with time' answer. 

Seriously, I wish doctors would just give me a cookie right before they say that to me. It would soften the blow and by now I'd have enough cookies to fill the void of grumpyness.

But it's better than her saying it's permanent. Because my extensive Googling has shown me a lot of websites that say that can be the case. Please, please, please Taco Overlord.... I pray that it won't be.

She followed up that lovely bit of advice (I do like her, I swear- it's just a common thing all doctors say that drive me bananas) with the information that.... Hey, it's going to take at least a year before your body returns to normal.

What was that now? A year? I got shit to do.

I must remind myself that being alive is nice. I'd like to keep doing it. And I'm thankful I am, achy legs, fatigue, hot flashes, and all. 

Oh well, the aches and pains are the worst. The menopause I can deal with. The hot flashes are miserable, the hormones suck, and the weight gain that won't go away is lame. But that's included in her 'one year' guess so we'll see. 

Menopause at age 28. No wonder my blog is based on a grumpy cat because that makes me pretty damn grumpy.

And hungry for more cookies. Seriously doctors, invest in a cookie jar.

So she ordered some blood work that day. My red blood cells are lingering right on the borderline of the lowest 'standard' range. My white blood cells still haven't crawled back to normal so I betcha that's causing some of my fatigue.

And she did an x-ray. Shoot, didn't even have grumpy cat with me. It did give me an opportunity to take a selfie for the blog without anyone giving me strange looks. 

My clinic and hospital back home were well acquainted with my picture taking and selfies. Nothing says 'blogger' than me shrieking 'WAIT! Bring me that bag of blood so I can get a picture of it!'.... For the blog... seriously, it's not weird. These folks will get used to it. 

So overall, I'm very impressed with the whole place. The nurses, the doctors, the lab techs, everything. Even their gowns are awesome! Because they're not gowns! They gave you scrubs to wear! 

I mean, seriously, check that out! Stylish, comfy scrubs for all your hospital needs. 

That's something all hospitals need to implement. I would get down right aggressive if anyone at the hospitals back home tried to force me into a gown.

(Right Aurora nurses? Hope you're still reading, miss you all!)

But I consented to these because they were pretty sweet. 

Plus they don't need to know how big of a pain in the ass I can be yet. This is all just gonna be in and out procedures anyways!

So my x-ray came back good. So now I am free until November until my next round of blood work and then CAT scan. Wooo..... not. But that's a ways off. At least it's not too close to Christmas.

That all being said, I seriously miss all the nurses back at Aurora. They were the best support system during that horrific battle. Especially with that last hospital stay and the last round of chemo- I was ready to give up (but you guys know I never would, not really) and they held me up when I felt I couldn't much longer. No matter how fancy pants this new place is, it's not the clinic that supported me every step of the way. Miss you ladies.

Honestly, one of the toughest things about being a survivor is realizing once they say REMISSION you have the glee, the happiness, the emotional uphill roller coaster and once all that ends.... you still have to deal with this crap. Recovering from chemo. Knowing that you may now face permanent changes such as a higher risk for heart issues, other cancers, long term neuropathy, infertility, and the shadow sword of cancer recurrence hanging over you for five years.

But during all of that, your support system is ripped out from under your feet. You no longer go to the clinic to get covered in warm blankets and fed soup. You no longer have a daily nurse (whether in the clinic or in the hospital) you see that knows in an instant what you're going through. Maybe not because she (or he) has gone through it but because they've seen it time and time and time again.

Your support system lessens and lessens. And that's okay. Because some days you want to pretend it never happened. Never talk about it again. Never think about it. I feel good those days so who needs a support system when there's nothing medical to support? Repress, repress, repress.

But then on days when my legs and feet hurt, I'm tired, my face is melting from the latest hot flash, and I feel like crying over my lost shoe... I feel more alone than I did when I had cancer. And that sucks. 

But wait, I don't want anyone to talk about it, right? Maybe I'm sending mixed signals.

I'll write a blog on all that later because that's a SUPER common trend I've heard from other survivors. That how when their support system vanishes (you're in remission, right? you don't need one anymore!) they emotionally sink.

Because really.. you're not back to normal yet. And on the days you can tell you're not back to normal- you're plain pissed off. Or sad. Or mopey. Or hungry. (Cookies?) And you still wish you had the same support you had during cancer to help with that.

Hmmmm, things to think about here.

But on a happier note:

Two weeks since my last image of my egg, I present you with a picture of what my head looks like 11 weeks after chemo.................

Drumroll......

HAIR HAIR HAIR HAIR HAIR HAIR!!!

Lions, mountains, moose, oh my!

I bet you all thought I went and fell off a mountain didn't you? Or was eaten by a mountain lion? Perhaps fell in the river?

Nah, we're all good.

Sadly, my cancer survivor trip has been postponed until later this year. That was super disappointing BUT I still went up to the mountains for a nice family weekend instead. We did some hiking and we went up to the top of Rocky Mountain National Park.

So since the kids were in tow it wasn't exactly the meditative experience the retreat was supposed to be but it was still a blast.

I successfully completed my first Colorado mountain hike. Uphill baby! Physically I felt pretty winded at first. One thing my oncologist warned me about in the mountains was my low red blood cell count which as you may know helps the oxygen flow in your blood stream. Less red blood cells means less oxygen. Normally not a big deal until you're up in the mountains in high altitude with thinner oxygen. Luckily, didn't have any issues with that on the hike. Going uphill I was a bit wheezy but once it leveled out my lungs adjusted and I powered through.

Honestly, I probably handled it better than I would have when I was a smoker before any of this cancer crap happened. So there's that to consider. We didn't go super far in since we had the kids and there were recent mountain lion sightings in the area.

Yeah baby, mountain lions.

Fighting a mountain lion is one experience I hope to never have. Yes, fighting one. Because the advice is to fight back if you're attacked. Well cool. I'll get right on that. I did see a moose though! Like literally, right next to us in the dark. Moose are freaky creatures. You'd think they'd be all cute but I didn't like the way it was looking at us.

I love hiking now. That was seriously such an awesome experience. It was just wonderful to feel physically strong again. The doctors have told me exercise is key to bouncing back and I'm jumping on that bandwagon as soon as I can. I want to get my body back into shape and make it powerful. I want to be able to handle a five mile hike without being winded. I want to be strong enough to handle rafting d\own the Poudre river. I have a list of physical goals to complete now. The further you hike, the prettier the views are. What could be better motivation than that?

We also took a stroll up Trail Ridge road (give it a Google, WI folks) which has an elevation of up in the 12,000 range. We wandered around the top of Forest Canyon and that was awesome. We were so high up that trees don't even grow because there's so little oxygen. And that's when I started to feel the altitude a little bit. Felt pretty dizzy when we got back in the car. But who knows if that's just a normal response to altitude for someone who's not used to it or if it's because of the chemo.

Top of the World: Forest Canyon Overlook

That's the tricky thing these days. Not knowing what to blame on the chemo or what is a natural ache or issue.

So I didn't fight a mountain lion. But I did survive the mountain! My aching after-chemo legs carried my happy butt up that mountain and the more I hiked the better I felt. It was liberating to feel strength in my body again after months of feeling as weak as a kitten.

So if you all remember back in February I made the declaration that I would conquer the snowbank of cancer and win....

Which I illustrated very nicely by climbing a snowbank.

We never have a shortage of snowbanks during WI wintertime.

And I certainly conquered the cancer. But at the time I think I was drastically underestimating the battle I was about to face.

Looking back on things I think my positive attitude was astounding but I think so much of that was partly because I had no real clue the hell I was going to face. I don't say that now to dismiss my positive outlook but to further illustrate the way a cancer fight knocks you off your feet

Even if you manage to hang on by your toes.

So really the more I think about it, I didn't really conquer the snowbank of cancer. It was much more than a snowbank. The hospital stays, the pain, the fear, and the toll it took on my family was much more immense than one snowbank.

In reality I conquered a mountain.

Bushy eyelashes, fuzzy head, post-chemo wig humor, and other five star updates.

I promised that I would keep updating on the progress of my hair. Three weeks after my last chemotherapy treatment (always counting from the last day) I had a few pieces of stubble. You couldn't see them but I could feel those little buggars pushing through my scalp. Here is a close up of my big ole egg. Can you see it?!

That's right folks. I have official hair growing. It's super bright blonde and it's fuzzy. I have fuzz! I'd say it's about 1/2 inch long. So we have a ways to go.

Tomorrow will mark nine weeks since my last chemotherapy treatment. It's starting to feel like another lifetime that I went through this. Remember all that repressing I like to do? My mind is working hard to try to shove all these cancer memories down into a little box and put them away in storage. But it's not so easy to do when you're bald. You're reminded every morning when you decide what color hair you'd like to have that day. You're reminded when you want to take your son to the pool and you have the agonizing back and forth in the car to go wigless (and be stared at) or risk getting your $300 wig wet. You're reminded at the end of the day when the first thing you do is rip that wig right off your head.

I don't think I'll ever be able to forget this experience but I sure can't wait to not have to be reminded of it every time I stare in the mirror.

That is one big reason why my regrowth is such an obsession for me right now. I cannot wait to feel completely like myself again. I miss my hair every day, every second, every moment. It's like a constant ache. I feel like I'm dealing with it worse now than I did when I first lost it. I was too wrapped up in battling cancer, suffering from chemo, and being a horribly appropriate combination of brave and terrified. Now I feel healthy, I'm living my dream, everything is happy, successful, and wonderful. But I'm friggen bald. That big ole bald head reminds me that life wasn't always sunshine.

It'd be nice to have just natural hair. No awkward pauses when someone compliments my awesome hair or asks me what salon did my dye job. I want to have my own hair. No more dealing with the pain of hat headache for hours at a stretch. Plus not having a melting wig on your head in 100 degree Colorado sun would be great too. Sure would make dating less daunting when I decide to entertain the idea. And it would avoid the possibilities of...

Insert PG-13 make out session. Smooch, smooch. Passionate 90's TV show hair grab. "Oh my gawd! Your hair just fell off!! I ripped your hair off!" Screaming for the hills.

Err, right?

Yeah, that sounds awkward. Is the fact you're wearing a wig first date table talk or do you just surprise them when they least expect it?

Now that could just be a fun game.

"Well hey there, Bob. What a nice day today, I feel like a nice breeze on my follicles." Rip off wig. Wait for reaction.

I don't like to date anyways. I don't like dealing with man needs. Pizza doesn't ask me to cuddle. Even though I'd probably like to cuddle with pizza.

Did I get off topic?

My eyelashes are BACK. I have official eyelashes. I use the term official because now they're long enough to put mascara on! And they're way thicker than they were before chemotherapy. So I guess I can forgive the chemo for being such a bastard and making them fall out after my last treatment. My eyebrows are back now and are already in need of a nice reshaping wax. Which I am terrified to do just yet. What if I piss them off and they all fall out? Better be nice to them for now.

It's too bad as a culture that we put so much emphasis on standardized female beauty. It's a pity that in order to feel beautiful, I feel that I need to put on a wig. Despite all the feminism coursing through my veins like Buffy (the vampire slayer) juice I still can't escape my own insecurities. Insecurities that have been force fed to me through years of television, advertisement, and popular culture brainwashing. But as I've discussed many, many times on here- hair is so central to our identity as human beings. Even more so for women. Are we wrong to put on wigs in order to feel like a normal and healthy woman? Does that make any of us less feminist for doing so? I don't think so.

I wish I could feel just as good without them. Because they sure are uncomfortable.

But day by day we're getting closer. The nurses told me the standard rate of hair growth is 1/2 inch per month. That sucks. But hey, maybe my hair will grow faster and surprise me.

I'll update on the hair progress as we go!

I have a big event coming up- at least as far as cancer survivor news goes. I signed up for a cancer mountain retreat/hike! It's all free and paid for by a wonderful group called Live by Living. They're going to take us up into the mountains where we will do yoga, meditation, and all sorts of healing techniques. This is going to be real outdoors kids. No electricity, just solar power. I'll take lots of pictures so I can share on the blog. I'm really excited. My sister Angela is going with me so it will be really fun. I think this will be really good for me. I need to connect with spirituality again. I need to refresh myself from my bitterness and just relax with nature. I need to have faith in my body again. It will be a great experience. I hope. As long as I don't fall off a mountain.

So keep an eye out for my next blog post! I will talk about my cancer survivor hike and I am sure that will be an enlightening post full of entertaining stories about my first time roughing it in the wilderness.

Post-Chemo Update

Well, we have some exciting news kids.

I can drink COFFEE again!!! I can taste it! 

See what I did there? (Thanks Puta for the Grumppuccino)

We are now almost six weeks from the last day of my last chemotherapy treatment. So far we have seen improvement in many different areas. My taste buds are back in full force! Coffee, taco dip, it all tastes good again. I might have ate everything I could get my hands on once that happened. 

My eyelashes are growing back and they're coming in thicker! They're about half the length of a normal eyelash at this point. 

No such luck on the eyebrows. I might have a handful of little hairs left and they fall out whenever I touch them. Maybe they'll start picking up the pace. Thankfully, with bangs it doesn't matter much anyways.

But the real exciting news is the past week the hair on my head has taken off full speed! My head is now covered with a very blonde peach fuzz. It's super, super tiny but it's there and growing fast. Not fast enough to give me some real friggen hair but I know it will take time. I just can't wait to give up wigs. So over wearing wigs. They have become ten times more uncomfortable now that my hair is growing back too. It's like wearing an itchy, hairy hat all day. 

The pain in my legs and feet has drastically improved. They still hurt consistently in the evening if I've had a long day but nowhere near the pain I was feeling a few weeks ago. 

No more nausea, no more insomnia, and no more bone pain. Those three were some of the worst. I was very happy to throw out all my medication for these bad boys. 

The fatigue is the one sucker that is hanging on pretty good. I have a really hard time waking up early like i used to and returning to my old schedule of springing out of bed at 6am. I hope that goes away soon. 

Emotionally I feel pretty good. The more time that goes on the more I feel that I really can put this behind me. I know that the first checkup CT scan and meeting with my new oncologist in September for follow ups will be hard but I'm a tough cookie. You have to live your life. Live it, love it, enjoy it. It's a ticking clock, this beautiful thing we call existence. It can be snuffed out so quickly. Called into question so fast. I will never waste another minute. 

I won't know if I can have more kids for a long time yet. The docs say it takes a year for the female body to return to a regular cycle OR not to show that the menopause is here to stay. But honestly, that's okay. I feel at this point Adrian is all I need. I can focus more time, love, resources, and attention on him if he's an only child. I am at peace with whatever happens with my fertility. Take it, leave it. I am just grateful to have the one beautiful little boy I do have and know that I am alive and healthy to take care of him. 

These hot flashes friggen suck though. 

My port removal incision is healing up nice but it's leaving me with a giant battle scar. Sigh. But hey, I just won a battle didn't I? Every warriror needs their battle scar to prove it. 

I'll update on my "hair" once it's long enough to see without pressing my nose to a mirror. 

Speaking of living life, we start our new beginning in Colorado this week. I am beyond excited to go home, be closer to all of our family, and to start my new career and grad program. Our townhouse looks amazing- that giant kitchen is going to be wonderful. Adrian's elementary school seems fantastic and I've already signed up to be on the PTO. (Parent Teacher Organization.. no longer called PTA these days) Adrian is super excited to be near his cousins and he's begging me to do soccer or karate. I am so beyond grateful that despite the horrible circumstance of being diagnosed with cancer that I was still able to graduate, accept my graduate admission, and make this transition happen so I can give Adrian the best life imaginable. Finally, all those years of hard work in my undergrad paid off. 

Looks like everything is turning out just right. The calm after the storm. 

It's going to be hard leaving Manitowoc behind but I think it's helpful that beating cancer and the move ended up falling into place the way they did. There's so many memories here now that scream 'CANCER' at me. I drive past Aurora Medical Center on memorial drive and I get a shiver. Even though the cancer cliniic there was the best ever, it brings back so many memories. I will neverr forget them but it'll be nice to not have to be reminded on a daily basis either.

The one thing that really bums me out is leaving my brother and all my wonderful friends behind. So many people really went above and beyond for me during my diagnosis and treatment. It's a shame I can't bring you all with me. Being faced with a life threatening condition will really show you who the people are in your life that truly care about you. Cancer showed me how wonderful and lucky I am to have such amazing friends and family. It also showed me that having cancer doesn't necessarily protect you from people that are soulless and heartless. Disease can be funny that way. 

I will miss you alll, my Manitowoc loves. I will be back to visit and I will be sure to stay in touch. 

Keep checking back for more post-chemo hair regrowth updates!  And I have an intersting cancer survivor hike into the mountains coming up- let's start taking bets now on how many hours I can last without technology.

Port Removal Surgery!!

I'm going to be honest on this one: I was extremely nervous to have this done. I had way more time to think about this than I did for the beginning surgeries and biopsies so I think I built it up to be a bigger deal in my head. By the time I got into the hospital room I was shaking.

But really, it's just a simple procedure (so they say) so it can be done in the clinic with regular ole freezing shots.

Let me tell ya, I'd rather have the drugs in the outpatient surgery- those freezing shots hurt like hell. But maybe that's because I was getting them in the boob and neck area?! Yes, the boob. Glad no one told me that before hand!

They started off by bringing me into the room and then I was left alone in there for a few minutes before it all started. You know what that means right? Hospital selfies!

The room looked like a regular ole clinic room with a surgery table. No big deal.

The biggest downside to having those few minutes alone is you have way too much time to see this terrifying table of torture:

Yikes. I just snapped a picture of it and then didn't look too long. I was already nervous enough. My imagination was conjuring all these images of my veins coming out like spaghetti when they pulled the port out and feeling the incision and so on and so on. Oi vey. I said this in my earlier posts: there's no sense in pretending that you don't get scared when this stuff happens. That's not true. We can be fighters, we can be brave, we can be tough, we can take on the largest amounts of pain- but that doesn't mean we don't feel fear. The fear is half of what makes cancer patients fighters. We barrel on in the face of paralyzing fear because we know that in a battle the fear is half the fight.

I took one last picture of me and my port. Though you can't really see it. If you look closely you can- especially the little tube going up to my neck. Yuck- creeps me out. 

So after my selfie fun in the exam room- they came in and we got down to business. The nurse I had, Lorene, was absolutely amazing. As was the doctor, Dr. Morgan. So wonderful. They both had an awesome bedside manner and were very funny. The nurse grabbed my hand right before the first numbing shot and gripped it each time he gave me another one. I'm glad she did that because they were painful as all hell. Way worse than I thought they were going to be. Maybe it's because they're going into the boob area? Needles and boobs just really don't belong together. They both kept me talking during the whole procedure which I appreciated. Made it much easier to ignore the pain when you're talking. Major props to that medical technique. Altogether I got about 6-8 shots? I'm not even sure, I tried so hard to focus on the conversation instead of counting. They got easier as the numbing kicked in- I didn't even feel the last two.

All in all that part took barely ten minutes. Once it was numb they started. He told me he was doing the incision and I didn't feel a thing so that easy peasy. I could feel the tugging as he pulled the port out but it didn't hurt. Just felt very strange and off putting. When he pulled it completely out I could hear a disgustingly amazing squishing noise in my neck where it was threaded. It was like a Game of Thrones noise. I'd give it a rating of a 7 on a 1 to 10 grossness scale. Very cool and disgusting.

The entire procedure maybe took 30 minutes. It was super fast and not nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. The shots were way worse than the actual procedure. I wouldn't be in a big hurry to have those ever again. But again, nothing that I couldn't bear. I've had way worse. (See: bone drills in your butt bones)

So here is the port in all its wonderful glory!

Yes, they let me keep it! Normally doctors don't let you keep things that come out of your body. (I'm looking at you, tonsil doctor) 

I'm not sure if I'm going to keep it forever- I might just toss it out. I just wanted a few pictures of it for the blog. See the little squishy parts? That's where the needles went in when they accessed it for chemo, fluids, blood work, antibiotics, blood transfusions- you name it. The white part is what was threaded into my vein up into my neck. Disgusting and cool, right?

So this is a happy day of celebration. Today the last and final step of my cancer journey is over. I am officially free. I am free from the leash (the port) that binded me to this horror. I might have mental wounds that will never heal and scars that will never fade but I am alive. I can take this experience and put it into perspective. I appreciate life more than I ever did. I appreciate the simplicity of feeling healthy more than I ever could have imagined. I relish the fact that I can eat sour food without unbearable pain (mouth sores) again. I am grateful that the cancer I did have was a curable and treatable one. I am so lucky that I am healed and on the road to recovery. 

And as a mother, this is even more incredible. The first words out of my mouth after my diagnosis were, "What will happen to Adrian?" Those were the scary moments before I knew any details besides it was cancer. Those dark moments of fear and despair. Now that my battle is over I can breathe easily again with the knowledge that I am healthy and fit. My son will not lose his mom. He will not have to see me sick again. He's seeing my health and active personality return in full force and I see the happiness in his eyes as he sees me run, play, and smile.

So today I fully feel the happiness of my remission. With the removal of that port it symbolized everything I have fought for, the battle I have won, and the conquering of the darkness that dared to taint my life.

Screw you cancer, I won.