Quick update

It's been a long time since my sister and I have updated you all on my health status. No excuses for this so I do apologize. This blog entry won't come with my typical life lesson- just a clear update on me- not something I usually enjoy writing about. 

About a month ago I spent nearly a month in the hospital for... you guessed it: more stomach issues. That damn radiation really did a number on my insides- an all too common happening.  I shouldn't complain at this point as after dealing with some brutal pain for months, the surgeons and doctors fixed a lot of my problems. So hopefully you won't have to hear about my stomach issues for a long time. 

In the meantime, I still deal with a lot of nausea and vomiting and general weakness on a daily or every other day basis. It gets pretty frustrating for me but I believe some of this is a nice effect of the chemo pills, or more specifically, PARP Imhibitors I have been taking. I am no longer on traditional chemo which is very nice, especially for my hair which is growing back wavy and crazy. But more so, it's a little easier on the mind knowing that I don't have poisons pushing through my veins- a feeling only a cancer patient can explain. But these pills, although one of the last ideas of treatment from my docs, is not chemo, they're still not easy on my body. I get sick more often now than when I was on chemo. Throwing up has never been my favorite thing, so you can imagine it to be pretty hard to forcefully consume six pills daily, knowing they're "probably" the cause of my discomfort and vomiting. I am heading to Texas on Monday to check in with my doctor and nurse who prescribed this. Yet again, I am the only one with my type or cancer to try this inhibitor, leaving me a study of one, again. So unsettling. This is when we seek that "hope" again- That it's killing at least some of the tumors in my body. To better understand theses pills, here's some background: the first time I went to MD Anderson, they tested my original tumor to see if there was a genetic mutation- which luckily,  months later, we found out there was. This allowed for a targeted treatment which are the PARP Inhibitor pills I am taking now.

We wait one more month to get scanned to see If these pills have done anything. As crappy as I feel on most days, I'm willing- for all the loved ones in my life- to give these pills a full-hearted chance. So we wait another month in hope. Maybe we have a lesson here: Never give up before you know if there is a solution to something, especially when it comes to the hope your loved ones have in it.

Photo caption: Just four little ones worth fighting for. 

Lucky One

I've been in like. I've been in lust. I've been infatuated. I've been used. I've loved. But I didn't know I'd gain the wisdom to realize I was truly in love- or what that meant for that matter. Many people go through life not knowing what that feels like- I guess I'm a lucky one. 

True love is moving to a new city alone, expecting your girlfriend to follow. When she changes her mind on you because that's what girls do, you don't get mad, you go with the new plan. Ok, you're a little pissed, but moving back isn't that bad. 

True love is having to move in with her mom for an unknown amount of time while she finishes off treatments from a diagnosis that has changed her so drastically in a matter of three months that you both have to take a step back to get to know the girl you fell in love with beneath new painful scars, scraggly, bald hair, random hot flashes and nauseous spells caused from the wet summer. I'll never forgot the smell of mold everywhere that summer. 

True love is pushing forward and finding hope for a future without this mess. Never once backing down from the monster that lurks. It is trying to jump back on the track at that interval before your life turned upside down. And it works- well sort of- for about the three months you have of normalcy. Of waiting, patiently to believe the disease is gone. 

It is finding out that the living hell is not over. It's round two. And he's still not leaving your side. 

It's countless hours spent by a hospital bed for God knows what reason this time, and next. It's losing my hair in its entirety from this type of poison. He doesn't lie and I love that he doesn't lie. It's creating an endearing name: Chimpcess; Princess and Chimp. His Chimpcess. And I love it. 

It's forcing me to eat when I want nothing. It's taking over everything I was supposed to do for him: cleaning, cooking, laundry. He does it all. It's working from home two days a week to run me to appointments, run to the pharmacy for my countless meds, or even to force me out of bed for just a little. It's going to the grocery store when I've finished the last Raspberry Popsicle In the box. It's telling me on chemo days to "think positive," knowing the week ahead is going to be a bitch. It's continually asking me if he can do anything for me. 

It's joking with me late at night in bed while we mess with the pups, never once making me feel like "Tina with cancer." To the world, that is who I have become, but to my man, I'm still his little bit of hope that in some mind-blowing way, can still make him smile. 

That is true love. And I have it. 

Happy 30th Birthday to my amazing, old man. Without you, this would be a pretty lame fight.

Disclaimer/ Lesson: Love in no way equals perfection. Two hard heads and strong opinions often lead to disagreement. But this is the most important acknowledgement on my journey to discovering true love. Don't be fooled when butterflies fade and comfort sets in. That comfort will be worth a hell of a lot more down the road. This, I promise.

Photo Captions: A few fun ones of the pups. Really, this entertains us. 

Qkie Monster is embarrassed!

Where's Boo Boo?

...and Smolgy June. She may look innocent but don't let her fool you. 

Trying to Swim

I know I said I would write this blog for you and me, but truth in the matter is that I honestly haven't been able to sit down and think of anything worth sharing with you all. It hasn't been the best few months and it hasn't been the worst. Multiple doctors, quite a few alternative treatments and time has eased the severe pain that was causing me to pop pill after pill for minimum relief. Not to say that I'm not still on drugs, OR experiencing pain- because I am- It's just a lot better. I'll take it. 

Even though I feel like I'm simply "existing," I guess my body has spent a few months trying to fix some serious damage. Truth: I haven't picked up the pen because while my body may be on the mending, my mind is not. I truly believe the excessive amount of poison has damaged me, my creativity, my motivation, desire for much of anything.  It's tough. This nonsense is tough and I'm not quite sure how people endure it for years. I have hope that if/when the poisons stop, I can work on finding me again. There's that "hope" word again. 

I want to apologize for not answering calls, or texts, or letters. I hope you all know how much your support and love means to me. Some days when I feel ill, it's very hard to even look at my phone screen and text back. I've never been a phone person and have found that it's nearly impossible for me to "chat" now. It's not easy to have small talk when there is nothing normal about your life- when it's so distant, you don't even recognize it. And there are only so many ways I can tell you I'm feeling "ok" when I really feel like shit and just don't want you to know. This is just me telling you that I love you all, even if I can't express it in the way I once did. I wanted to share this link because it is one of the most honest resources I've found yet. And don't feel guilty if you find you've said some of these- we're all human, friends: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/nikhil-joshi/10-things-to-not-say_b_5296916.html?utm_hp_ref=tw 

On the other hand, I hate feeling rude or unappreciative but there comes a point where everyone around you thinks they know what's best for YOU- and they don't. I can't tell you how often I hear, "eat this, don't eat so much of that, juice this, take a walk, sit in the sun, take this vitamin, take a walk, have you been outside today?"... while it's appreciated, it's hard to explain to people that it's too much. Overwhelming. As if I don't have enough doctors trying to "fix me" and as if the straight week of juicing beets didn't ruin any desire I had to pull out that monster of a machine again and forcefully down ten ounces of thick vegetables daily. No, you don't "get used" to the taste, at least not when twenty plus infusions of chemo have annihilated your taste buds.  

I hate sounding so negative but I promised you all truth. Please check the disclaimer on this blog if need be. I hate complaining- it's actually one of my biggest pet peeves but I can't be honest with you all without sharing what is ailing me. 

On to bigger and more technical stuff (and a little lesson if you can actually believe it after reading this post). So on top of getting oxygen treatments for two hours and twenty extremely long minutes every weekday for a bit over a month, I've recently started acupuncture- and actually enjoy it. All of these methods to try and heal my destroyed digestive system. I think we're finally getting somewhere. I've still been a prisoner to chemo every 21 days and had my first blood transfusion last round. I hadn't realized, but my red counts were getting extremely low- a nice product of cumulative chemotherapy. Lord only knows how many I've had at this point. I've stopped counting for my own health. If that's possible? I know everyone keeps asking about scan-time. Seems like it's been forever but that's another word I'm beginning to despise, so please just follow the blogs, mine and my sister's for big updates like that- you all will know for sure when something happens. Right now we are waiting on scans, as there may be a new treatment in store in a couple months. Once we find out more, and definite plans, we will let you all know. 

It has officially been a year since I heard those dumb, dumb words from my doctor. Fact is, some doctors didn't think I'd make it this long...so there's something to be happy about. For today and for every day, when you think you can't go any further...just remember this great lesson:  

I sure as hell am trying to swim. 

 

Unconditional Love

I continue to learn daily. I was the one who'd always ask during many of life's questionable circumstances, "what is the meaning of life?" This may all be my fault because I needed an answer to this life-long question. Those closest to me have had this conversation with me as a kid, a confused adolescent, an adult over a good beer. Often times we'd laugh over the possibility of even answering this question legitimately. I believe I am learning. A very special, special friend has re-entered my life recently and has taught me that life is measured by how you love. The only thing that matters in the end is, "how did you love?" I'm seeing this light. 

To bring everyone up to pace, I'm sitting at home after yet another miserable stay at the hospital. I don't feel well yet but am hoping each new day will bring me a little bit back to normal. Ahhhh, to feel normal. Hope with me, friends. I don't want to get too far into details but let's just laugh together and say I was literally "full of shit." Painfully full. We're hoping this has fixed what has been paining me for some time now. But I am home now, able to sleep in the comfort of my man and my pups, my bed, not connected to an IV, stranded to a hospital bed, highly medicated, longing for relief. During this time, my mom did not leave my side. 

I've mentioned her briefly but yet again, words cannot begin to explain the beauty of this woman. She works full time, has been dealt many, many trying battles, and now has to see her daughter fighting for her life daily. It's not fair. But she does it with such grace, patience, love and understanding. She puts her faith in The Lord for better days. She believes and it helps me believe. I would be nowhere without the love of my mother. She is my rock. 

 

I've never wanted children; thankfully it wasn't in my books. Selfish, maybe? Or maybe just not cut out for all it entails. I'm fine loving my dogs unconditionally. Sometimes I am thankful this monster happened to me and not another woman that longed for the bond I know only a mother can feel. I can't speak for myself, but being on the receiving end, it is pretty damn amazing. This is what angers me most for my SCCC and LCCC sisters- ones that will never get to experience this and longed only for this. It's not fair, yet another question we cannot answer. 

To all the mothers out there, I give you mad props. And the kids that just don't understand it, take a step back and be thankful. Mothers are among our greatest gifts. 

Photo caption: Much brighter days, Mom has been by my side...always. 

A lesson learned...the hard way

This is personal. And very hard to talk about. So once again, I write. I debated sharing this story, but found it necessary as it has very much become part of my journey. And because today is the birthday of my hero. 

I was raised Catholic: baptized, first communion, CCD classes (which mainly consisted of Mark and I eating as many donuts as possible), confirmation, church. We did it all. My parents chose to raise us this way. And years later, although I disagree with a lot of Catholicism (number one being the right to love any person you choose), I continued to attend Catholic masses. Often by myself, and throughout college where there was one Catholic Church for every twenty Baptist in Spartanburg, South Carolina. I think at that age (I'm talking 18-23) your mind is fragile, still a bit naive, and you route for something that brings comfort. The Catholic experience brought that comfort dating back to childhood. It almost felt like I was linked spiritually to the one woman I admired so much who truly believed in everything the Bible and the Catholic religion preached. That woman, was of course, mighty Nana. 

Today, I don't claim to be of any denomination.

My faith has been a bit shaken, to say the least. Believe it or not, it didn't begin the day they said "you have cancer." If anything, this is helping me discover a new-found spirituality and belief in something much more powerful than us. I am learning. But the day I lost my faith was the day I lost Adam. 

To explain Adam, I would need pages upon pages of words and yet the complexity of my relationship with him would still not make sense to the outside world. It often doesn't make sense to me. So I will share a little, in hopes this lesson will be clear. 

I was sixteen and fell in love with a beautiful olive-skinned, deep, dark-eyed boy. Many girls fell in love with him. His humor, his demeanor, his athleticism- there was nothing not to admire as a young, innocent girl. We called it "puppy love." But there was always something more. Something more to that beautiful, smart-assed kid that I couldn't shake.

Honestly, it just never worked out: timing, our age difference, family, friends...and yet somehow he would never leave my life. He'd pop up in places I least expected like Charleston, South Carolina, phone calls during a three month span of not hearing a word from him and yet I'd wake up at two AM to answer his call.  Wouldn't you know I was dreaming of him at that moment? Odd stuff. Another one of life's mysteries. Around eight years later, I firmly chose to move on because my connection with him was so complex, giving up hope that "it," "we" could possibly work. When you're hurt so many times your mind forces you to let go. And I did that to the best of my ability. 

In the midst of my decision, Adam had made a much greater one. He had enrolled in the Army about a year before. He'd been in and out of boot camp, training, and was already being deployed to Afghanistan. You worry, naturally, but never think anything bad can happen to someone you know. So I, being the hard-headed, strong-willed person I am, stuck by my decision to not let him "back in." To my heart, maybe. But my life. I needed to move on. 

It was the week of May 24, 2011 when I had missed calls from across the world in a place we hear so much about, yet choose to know so little. A place filled with pain and complete destruction. Calls from Afghanistan. Unanswered messages on Facebook. 

I received the call from one of my best friends while I was in Indiana, celebrating, of all holidays, Memorial Day weekend, with my family.  It was less than 24 hours from Adam's last message, pleading for me to answer the phone. Adam died. 

I have never in my 26 years felt so empty. So angry. Still, breathless, yet uncontrollably shaking. It couldn't be true. 

Lives are lost every day in ways we cannot comprehend. But this, this marks the hardest lesson yet. We said goodbye to Adam on one of the sunniest days in June, a swarm of grieving bodies gathered in silence and tears. I've never seen anything like it. I wonder if he knew then, the amount of lives that boy touched. And to see his journey here end as a true hero, giving up his life for every single one of us, is just the way Adam would want to be remembered. "Always the brightest star. " 

Dear friends, please let every single person in your life that has made a difference, held your hand, let you cry, spill your fears, ones that you have loved so deeply, ones who have brought you true happiness, no matter how great or small, please, please, let them know what they mean to you. As cliche as it may sound, put your damn pride aside in times of adversity. In the end, the pain is far worse than a little bit of petty pride. My current battle has allowed me to transform this deep regret into life's greatest lesson. 

With every visit to where he is laid to rest, I'd ask him to show me that he is in a better place. To please restore my faith in a higher power that has intentions with us. Please show me somehow, that you are ok. 

He has. 

Call it a coincidence, but my first day of any treatment was the two year anniversary of his passing. He's given me countless signs along the way that he is with me. I am learning to trust and believe again. Thanks, Ad. 

Through him, I am lucky enough to have been blessed with two beautiful women that I can call my warriors; Adam's mom and cousin. Adam's mom gives a whole new meaning to the word "strength." We share the greatest gift: one amazing Angel. 

Photo Caption: This is Adam in Afghanistan. His mom gave him that Snuggie for comfort when he was away. She has so kindly let me borrow it. Something in which I am so grateful. It has been my blanket of comfort and hope, wrapped real tight through each and every chemo treatment. 

Happy birthday, SPC Adam Scott Hamilton. May you rest peacefully in Paradise. 

Date # 16 with chemo...semi-complete

As much as I try to stay positive, the truth is that it is hard. Life is hard, for all of us. No pitty please. These posts come with a disclaimer for a reason. 

After a two week delay of chemo due to my ridiculous stomach issues, I was ready for cycle 2 (or as close to ready as any cancer patient can be when they willingly allow poisons to be pumped into their veins for hours at a time). Something my Aunt describes as "Somewhere between anticipation and dread. And ultimately a darned inconvenience, but accepted." But after meeting with the doc before treatment, he explained that it was still too dangerous to administer two of the three types of chemo that I should be receiving. There is just too much risk with my colon at this time. 

It is very hard to remain positive when you think you have a gameplan. It is in many ways discouraging when you know that one of your last options (this aggressive chemo cocktail that I was prescribed) may ultimately be too much for my weakened body to handle. So we hope that in a few weeks my body will have healed enough to get this cocktail again.  Hope seems to be the word of the year. 

The scariest part is that nobody knows what drug actually works. My doctor calls this a phase 2 study. There is nothing settling about treating your life with a study. Nothing. So when you see positive results from a chemo cocktail that seems to be working, and are told that only one can be used right now, it is a feeling beyond disappointment. It is hard to accept. When I asked if he thought administering the Taxol only would be effective, he said he doesn't know. Nobody knows. Days like this is when I wish for that "normal " cancer. As if there is such a thing. For those that don't know what monster lives inside of me, check out this link. It is the most clear, to the point explanation I have found. If you already know enough, skip it. http://www.mdanderson.org/patient-and-cancer-information/cancer-information/cancer-types/cervical-cancer/small-and-large-cell.html

So I'm writing from home on this freezing day, when I was hoping (or something like hope) to receive two more poisons today and tomorrow. It is what it is. So instead of feeling down, I take the words from my team, my warriors and carry on. I look at pictures of my beautiful nieces and nephews. I listen to some good tunes. I keep myself in good, good company. I remind myself that I will be back to work again before I know it. I will make it to Kiawah Island in the Spring. I will beat this. 

So I'll end today's post with a quote my sister shared with me.