fuck cancer – Betches Guide to Cancer

What doesn’t grow back.

Your hair will grow back. What doesn’t grow back readily, are the brain cells that were killed by dense-dose chemo and the feeling of belonging in a cancer-community ravaged by constant death. What doesn’t grow back right away, is self-assurance in a world governed by the appearance of our physical assets. But what I have learned is that those things, although intrinsic to our nature, need watering to propagate.

Cancerous weeds that poisoned our bodies were ripped out and we’re left as shells, vacant in the stale soil remains that cultivate little growth apart from fear and apprehension. Slowly as sun and rain returns in waves, we toil in our new dusty surroundings and plant seeds of love and evolution. We stare longingly at the vast green meadows in the distance, sometimes neglecting our own efforts to rebuild the broken land we stand on.

Our recovery comes in seasons, just like the Earth. Sometimes I’m Spring; energized by the sound of birds and the flowers blooming around me. Sometimes I’m Winter; exhausted from the banal platitudes of adult life, so I let my flowers rot back into the Earth under the heaviness of cold wet snow. Cyclical like the seasons.

But each Spring plants more drops of hope into the soil that eventually grow into trees that withstand the winters and tower over the snow. Time and careful upkeep, brings unflinching boldness and beauty to a once-broken ground.

So be gentle with us, we’re relearning to live after we’ve been told we may die.

I often neglect my springtime because I am too busy looking across the pasture, coveting an oasis in the distance. It disorients me and I can’t see that I’ve ignored my own pasture in the peripheral. So I struggle to keep up. Staying focused is one of the most difficult things I’ve struggled with after cancer.

I’ve written things like:

“We are taught to drive a car by looking ahead of us in our own lane. If you are constantly staring to your right and left at the nicer cars going faster than you, you’ll inevitably crash.”

And I can’t follow my own advice. I crash, all the time. I set goals for myself, I’m not very good at keeping them. Distractions are my worst enemy, and I often consider it failure. But this morning—as if struck by a lightning bolt from God—I realized that I’m not failing. I can’t keep punishing myself. It’s a cycle of growth; embryonic at times, but still progress. Failure comes in all forms; forward movement, however slow it may be, is not failure. I may be wading in the water, but my head is still above it.

I have an overly sensitive spirit, and I live in an overstimulated world. How do I focus when there’s so much distraction? Often times, I have days where I can’t do anything. I wake up, drink coffee, and I am sucked into a vacuum of social media and internet nonsense. My optimism is shrouded in the daily humdrum of just being alive. I don’t possess a fear of failure, or a fear of death. Perhaps my fear is of life. Of living a life so extraordinary and then having it taken away in death. Sometimes I think we’re all waiting to die, wherein lies an underlying lack of motivation for great success.

In the past, two things that I’ve used to help keep me moving (slowly) forward are self-love, and unwavering optimism. I’ve always been an overly optimistic person, oftentimes and recently using it as a crutch that “everything will be ok” regardless if I do anything about it. But I bore myself, because my past few blogs have been written on precisely the same struggle that I have now. I’ve let my optimism bankrupt me, like I’m buying too many lottery tickets because I just KNOW that someday I’ll win.

I need to shift my blind enthusiasm and self-love towards coveting a fear of failure and having self-motivation. Enthusiasm is only a means to achieve real life success, it’s not successful in itself.

I’ve measured my success in my survival for so long, but it’s time to go beyond surviving and start living. Living, is being responsible. It’s being productive and actively working to change your life and achieve goals. It’s having fun, when it’s felt rewarded. It’s waking up early and setting goals in the magical, energetic light of morning. It’s not being blissfully happy and waiting around for someone to contact me with a million dollars advance to write a book.

Money doesn’t motivate me, helping people motivates me. So I’m going to use that, YOU, as my motivation going forward. If I let my friends, clients, and readers down, then I’ve let myself down. I’m not going to be a stay-at-home girlfriend, I’m going to be the bread-winner. I am done struggling, I am done being lazy. This is my time to create the oasis I’ve always been admiring from afar. I will be consistent. I will get organized. I will surround myself with people who hold the same goals and positivity as myself. I can fucking do this, I beat cancer.

And when I’m inevitably fading into the winter, I’ll remind myself to come back and read this and remember where my motivation lies. I won’t punish myself and wither beneath the weight of a setback, I’ll remind myself that I am allowed to experience the cold sometimes because it reminds me of how much more I enjoy warm weather.

“Although you feel small and helpless now, she is evidence that miracles are being planted in the ashes that surround you, and they will grow into oak trees with roots so deep they do not fear the changing seasons.”

I wrote that…about one year ago. Making me realize that nobody else can truly motivate me like myself. <3

A change of tide

The tides are a changin’.

“Would you like to try that on? Can I help you find anything? Can I start you a fitting room?”

The worst thing about shopping is the nagging sales pitches that every dutiful employee is required to engage in. I hope that they hate doing it as much as the customer loathes hearing it, but it’s part of the job. Most would buy an article of clothing based on their partiality to the look or brand, but occasionally there are innate tangibles that persuade us to purchase something for more sentimental reasons. Such was the case with this sales pitch.

“This company is amazing, the founder’s father had cancer and died when he was very young, so now he has this line of shirts that say encouraging things on them.” She picks up a shirt and unfolds it to reveal the words Mind Over Matter.

Continuing her plug, “Cute, right? And on every tag there is a story from a different cancer survivor, or someone who has lost somebody to cancer. It’s really moving because it affects everybody. I mean, you probably know somebody like a friend or family member who has gone through cancer. So everybody can relate. It’s for a good cause.”

I looked down at my wrist and calmly put my hand over it to cover my tattoo. It says Mind Over Matter, but I didn’t want to show her. I self-consciously wanted to conceal my intimate knowledge of the same subject that she was passionately trying to sell me shirts through.

Why couldn’t I speak up and tell her that I was one of those people who had cancer? Lately, I just don’t feel like talking about it; I know the subsequent questions I would be asked as her happy sales-promoting face converted into a pouty lip and furrowed brow. She would look at me like I was an abandoned little puppy that needed to be adopted.

We all choose to hide certain things about ourselves in an effort to remain likeable. Although, in this case I’m certain she wouldn’t have changed her opinion of me either way, had I divulged my secret. But it wouldn’t have got me a free shirt either.

There have been countless times that I’ve been in a similar situation where I have to decide if I speak up or keep quiet about “the cancer thing.” There was a time when I couldn’t hide it because of the physical evidence of cancer—being bald for example. But my hair grew back, and there is increasingly less proof of the sick girl that I once was. Faded scars are the last trace of a bygone era.

I associated myself with my disease for so many years; it became who I was and what people knew me by—the young girl who got breast cancer. I grew fond of the label because it gave me a peculiar new sense of empowerment that I had accomplished and beat something. Now, as the years have passed, I find myself wanting to disassociate myself with my former label. I don’t want to be like that high school football player who still talks about the glory days and can’t move on in life. Stagnant. Unevolved. Those who cannot change or adapt, have already convinced themselves that they are unable to because of their current situation. “This is as good as it gets.”

As my environment is evolving away from cancer, I adapt, not to survive but to continue to improve upon myself and my understanding of the world. By changing my thinking from “sick cancer girl” to something more like “fucking badass” I’m leaving no space for excuses (although I still make them). Each experience in life is a means to get us to the next place in life; woven together to create a beautiful, intricate story that is as unique as the very DNA that flows through our veins.

What most people fail to understand is that you can write your own story—with intention, purpose, and foresight—your own paradigm shift is there for the taking if you’re willing to navigate yourself out of the prevailing winds. This is something that I’ve struggled with recently.

I quit my job right before Thanksgiving. After cancer, it’s common to feel lost. We’re left wading in the water, surrounded by the fiery wreckage of a crashed airplane. I wanted time to decompress and find myself, but recently I feel like my time off has left me indolent and idle.

My lack of framework is mostly to blame for my barren ambition. I wrongfully assumed that when I quit my job I’d be swimming in creativity and a flurry of new projects to conquer that I’d previously never had time for. I was waiting for the “moment to strike” to want to write, but it rarely has happened. I assumed that once I was free from the daily burdens of my corporate job, that all my good ideas would flood my mind and I’d jump to it and get to work. I’ve waited around for something to strike. And here I am, nearly 8 months later in the Sahara desert of a creative drought.

How does one break free from the doldrums of complacency and zero motivation? I frequently feel ashamed and self-critical of this insidious helplessness that crept into my life like a weed slowly suffocating my garden of roses—and the neighbors have begun to notice my ill-manicured lawn. The deeper I get into this apathetic life and the less I mold structure out of my days has caused me to be a person that I hardly admire. I spend my days going to the beach and playing the role of a stay-at-home-girlfriend.

How did I get here? And am I becoming a millennial? Based on the year I was born, I am classified as a millennial. A self-interest seeking and unapologetic species who think memes are religion and marriage is outdated.

I talk shit about millennials but my ironic fate has turned me into that which I abhor. I have a short attention span. I usually write two paragraphs and excuse myself to the kitchen to go make a snack and forget about what I was originally writing altogether. Motivation = poof. I expect things to be handed to me when I know they won’t be, but that doesn’t stop me from sitting around and waiting. I procrastinate, my favorite word is tomorrow, and I spend way too much money on shoes and handbags because somehow this makes me feel like I’m worth something and hopefully convinces strangers that I’m mildly successful and I’ve got my shit together. Which, I do not. But that’s OK, there is always a low-pressure drop in the air before a hurricane approaches.

Women frequently express jealousy of my “stay at home girlfriend/dog mom” status. Nah, girl. It’s not all that great once you find yourself getting excited about a sale at Michael’s craft store, or a new season of Girlfriends Guide to Divorce that you can binge watch all night while drinking your new case of White Girl Rosé. It’s not all that great when you realize that you don’t have anything interesting to talk about except meaningless gossip. It’s not all that great when someone asks you that impending question “So what do you do for work?” And my response is usually something like “I’m a stay at home dog mom and I’m also trying to become a drug lord but it’s been really difficult breaking into the biz.”

I’ve discovered that thoughts don’t necessarily lead to generating action; contrarily, premeditated action and good habits are what generates productive thoughts. So I’m making a change. I’m placing stability and structure back into my life. I’m not going to go shopping at 1 pm followed by drinks on the beach at 3pm followed by happy hour with friends at 6 pm. I retract that—I’m not going to do that every day, but still maybe once in a while. It’s been a fabulous run, but Robert Frost had it right when he said “Nothing gold can stay.”

There is undermined value in doing absolutely nothing for a while, but I’m pushing it’s limit so I’m trying to abide by my own new rules which I’ve neatly outlined below. 🙂

I don’t try to be better than anybody else, I just try to be better than the me I was yesterday.

No one owes you anything.

Although, we’re taught to believe otherwise. My parents did an excellent job raising me and my two sisters, but yes, we were a bit coddled and spoiled. My first car was a BMW which they paid for. Was it a mistake on their part? No, they love me and just wanted the best for me, but it made me subconsciously believe that things would probably be handed to me without working for them. College too—I wasn’t paying for it so I didn’t value it as much as I should have. I mistook college as a chore. Another obligatory thing in life that I didn’t really want to do. We tend to mistake love for indebtedness—like we are owed some magical credit card fueled by the love we have for each other. Case in point is our cultural obsession with grandiose weddings and marriage proposals. My engagement ring should reflect how much my fiancé loves me. We’re going to have a huge expensive wedding because we’re so much in love that we want everybody to know. A show of money is not a show of love. LOVE should be manifested in physical and verbal acts of admiration, respect, emotional empathy, and commitment. Be kind, support each other’s mental needs, hold hands. The only thing we are owed in life, is kindness and love.

Value your real relationships in life.

Shift your values. What do you want people to remember you by, when you die? That you had 100K followers on Instagram, or that you were a genuinely nice person who sought to help others in need? Sure, you can do both of those things. But our generation places increasingly too much value on the narcissistic fueled spectacles of a fake universe we call social media. If you have a strong influence on Instagram or Twitter, use it wisely, be helpful and encouraging to your followers. Think about the message you’re sending when you post an obviously-set-up-but-looks-candid photo and pretend to have a perfect life/perfect children/perfect ass, etc. I try to post the good with the bad, but sometimes I need to step away and not post anything at all.

Stop complaining.

I wouldn’t trade places with anybody in the world. If you’re feeling sorry for yourself—that’s okay—you’re allowed to feel that way. Verbalizing your unhappiness in the form of bitching and projecting it on other people is not okay, and PS—nobody cares, so STFU. Instead of complaining, ask somebody you admire for advice regarding your situation. The only person who can help you is yourself.

If you keep letting down yourself, you’ll eventually let everybody else down.

I struggle with this one a lot. It’s something I have to remind myself of daily. When we keep procrastinating and putting things off, that has an impact on who we are perceived as a person. If I can’t rely on myself to do something in a timely matter, why would anybody else rely on me for anything?

Work fucking harder for the life you want.

Nobody is going to do it for you. I worked and saved money so that I could quit my job for up to a year, because that’s the life I wanted. I don’t regret it; I learned from it.

Pray more.

God is real and wants to help you.

When the vodka runs out, your problems are still there.

Sure, I like to drink just as much as any other young person, but drinking should be a reward to celebrate your accomplishments, and not a crutch for when your life isn’t going as planned.

Take more risks.

The world is scary and we’re afraid to fail because we’ve been handed participation trophies our entire lives. High risks = high reward.

Get the fuck off Facebook.

This is mostly for everybody else, because I’m hardly ever on Facebook. If you’re posting more than one time a day, then you’re on there too much. Go back to my #2 point.

Stop comparing yourself to others.

We are taught to drive a car by looking ahead of us in our own lane. If you are constantly staring to your right and left at the nicer cars going faster than you, you’ll inevitably crash. You are unique in your own way, and nobody deserves comparison to you. It’s natural to be competitive and compare ourselves with others, but instead of thinking “I’m jealous of that person because they have (insert desirable attribute here),” try to think to yourself “I’m happy for that person, good for them.”

I’m at the point in my life where I don’t know what the hell I REALLY want to do. I got my real estate license, along with a slew of other useless licensees and laurels that are unprofitable additions to my repertoire. Like, a motorcycle license when I don’t own a motorcycle.

It took me thirty three and a half years to realize that I don’t always have to be DOING something. Sometimes, being alive is an accomplishment in itself. Sometimes we need time to reinvent ourselves. I’m not the same person that I was three years ago, so why should I be doing the same things as my old self?

I am resetting my life. I still don’t know what I want to “do” after my fun-employed life reboot. I’d like to find a way to comfortably exist with a job that doesn’t make me want to put my laptop in a panini press. Some people search their whole lives for that. But I have new goals, and I’ll be out there like Christopher Columbus with a wine glass in hand searching for my next conquest in life.

“The more you see yourself as what you’d like to become, and act as if what you want is already there, the more you’ll activate those dormant forces that will collaborate to transform your dream into your reality.” – Wayne Dyer

To the girl on the left…

Two years apart.

Same Lululemon hoodie; different body and soul occupying it.

I’m not here to bullshit with all the champions who are going through chemo right now and tell you “everything will be ok!” because we all know that’s not always true. And in those daunting hours, days, months of treatment we often can’t see the light because we’re literally confined indoors to our homes and hospitals under the stale fluorescence of fake lighting and saccharin enthusiasm.

I found my light by observing others who had walked the path before me. They have hair! They are going on vacations! They have cleavage! I was bald and puffy. I felt left behind and sorry for myself. But I saw my future in the other cancer survivors who were years ahead of me in remission. I realized that my new normal—crushing exhaustion as I would draw on my eyebrows every morning and glue on fake eyelashes just so I could look halfway decent and avoid sneers and stares if I even dared to venture into the outside world–would not be my forever normal.

So, to the girl on the left, I’d like you to meet the girl on the right. She is one of those future cancer survivors that you’re going to enviously admire. Let her be a testimony to all of the doubts and insecurities you’re feeling right now. Let her show you how life can be normal again. Although you feel small and helpless now, she is evidence that miracles are being planted in the ashes that surround you, and they will grow into oak trees with roots so deep they do not fear the changing seasons.

She is proof that –although you cannot see the plan God has for you—you are right on track.

To the girl on the left: I know you nearly had a panic attack before you posted that picture of yourself bald on social media. You were flustered and frightened by what the response would be because you cared what other people thought. And you will be criticized but not in a way you are prepared for. You will be judged for wearing wigs to “hide” your cancer. You will be condemned for saying the word “fuck” in your blog. You will be chastised for posting photos of your mastectomy scar and surgeries. You will get fusilladed by a sea of eye-rolls as you perpetually forget important dates and can’t even recall what you said in a conversation two hours ago.

The girl on the right is proof that as time passes and people pass judgement, you’ll learn to care a little less about those things. She is proof that you can and should do whatever the hell makes you happy because by the time you’ve caught up to the girl on the right, you’ll have earned every ounce of that happiness.

She is proof that one day you’ll become a stranger in the oncology department which now seems so familiar and where everybody knows your name. She is proof that there will be weeks that go by before the word “cancer” is spoken. And when it is, that word will slip from your mouth like a vase full of flowers tumbling to their demise while you flinch at the piercing explosion on the cold marble floor. It will rattle you. But also remember that the girl on the right is a fucking badass so she asks someone to grab a broom and everybody laughs because she says “I hated that ugly vase anyways.”

She is proof that as your life changes, you will learn more about yourself than you could ever imagine.

She is proof that you are not alone in your fight. Stay strong, whatever you’re going through now is just the test before you learn the lesson.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Social Media

It’s 8:47 p.m. on a Monday. I flip open my personal laptop and the bright screen practically blinds my eyes in the evening light. Annoyed, I dim the screen’s light and go to Facebook. To be honest, I loathe Facebook, but I feel obligated to give it a brief scan to make sure I haven’t missed anything important like National Chicken & Waffles Day.

One headline jumps out at me. My heart starts beating steadily faster and I can’t decide if I’m going to cry or throw my laptop off the balcony. The post says that cancer isn’t real. Cancer is actually caused by a vitamin deficiency and is a government hoax. Vitamins. Well, Holy Shit Balls, I guess the answer has been under our noses all along?

The sins of social media are flourishing in an already credulous time. I’ve considered taking a break from it recently; it’s just all too much. I’ve seen people with GoFundMe links asking for money who will also post photos with their $4,000 handbag casually in the background. I’ve seen spineless comments made on Facebook that cancer is population control and we shouldn’t fight it. The lies, the negativity, the advertisements, the duck lips. And WE ALL DO IT, in some way or another. I don’t post an ugly picture of myself because I don’t want people to think I’m ugly. However, I DID look ugly in that photo. It’s social manipulation.

I try to project honesty through my social media, but I’m not always straightforward. I’m not as strong or healthy as I portray myself. I’m not as witty in person — I’m better at writing than I am at speaking. Social media is amazing, but lately, I find it leaving me emotionally exhausted. Why do I keep doing it?

I check my phone probably 80 times a day. I rapidly double-tap my screen on as many cancer survivor’s Instagram photos as I can. I make comments, responses, hearts. As I was clicking through my phone on Monday, I decided to check up on a young breast cancer friend whom I hadn’t seen post in a while. I searched for her name and looked at her Instagram. She died one month ago. My heart feels like broken glass scraping through my chest.

Those moments are the worst aspects of social media, but also the most honest, unadulterated ones. Because, I had never met her, but I felt so connected with her and some of these women that it doesn’t matter. We share an intangible bond that was manifested through the internet, with people we’ve never physically met. This is the pure, beautiful part of social media that keeps me encouraged. The relationships we build with other kindred souls is what gives meaning to life.

It doesn’t matter if your relationships are made through social media or real life. They don’t need to be defined by anything other than their value, because physical proximity is increasingly invalid in a globally connected world. Cultivate the ones you care about and spread virtue.

We tend to sit behind our glowing screens and become separate, and sometimes worse, versions of ourselves. As children, we’re taught to think before we speak. But today, we need to think before we post. To the people out there who spam me with unsubstantiated articles that cancer is fake, I invite you to come to Florida and tell me that cancer isn’t real to my face. I’ll take you on a field trip to the oncology wing of my hospital.

Social media is a blessing and a curse, but I’m challenging myself to live with less of it and with more integrity. Last weekend, I had so much fun going on adventures with my friends that I forgot to take any pictures! I encourage you to do the same this holiday weekend, because I’m going to wear a unicorn costume and light fireworks off the roof and not take a single picture. When it’s not on social media, you’ll never know if it really happened.

P.S. Put your phone down and go outside. Namaste.

Why You Should Never Ignore Your Intuition

I’m sitting in a dimly lit massage room, waiting for the masseuse to come back. A large clap of thunder explodes outside as the lights start to flicker between varying degrees of brightness. Aren’t massages supposed to be Zen, relaxing? This feels like the start of a horror movie. Oh God. How do I leave a note for somebody to please relocate my body to a dressing room at Neiman Marcus instead of the Massage Envy in a shopping center?

My thoughts are interrupted when the door opens. It’s the masseuse lady; she’s holding an iPad, reading over my health questionnaire I filled out moments ago. She has a slightly puzzled, sad look on her face as she reads about my colorful life as told by yes/no/fill-in-the-blank questions. It’s the same look I always get when people see that I had cancer: long puppy dog face.

I smile in an attempt to disrupt this pity party. “Yeah I had breast cancer, I’m fine now. Do you have one of those boob-pillow things? I can’t lay on my stomach very easily with these foobies.” The conversations that follow are predictable. The first question is almost always: “How did you know you had cancer?” Well, I didn’t know. I think that people ask me that because there is a preconceived notion that breast cancer makes you feel sick or it hurts. Like when you know you have a cold because you’re coughing and sneezing. Anna says she assumed that cancer made you feel sick, and that it mainly only happened to older, unhealthy people. Right now, take all those ideas you may have about who gets cancer and bury them. Let them be as dead as Juicy Couture tracksuits.

For two years I unknowingly had cancer. It was 2013 when I discovered that pea-sized lump. I sat paralyzed on the couch, Googling breast cancer for hours as waves of fear washed over me and made my body numb with anxiety. My intuition immediately told me I had cancer. I begged my gynecologist to squeeze me in for a sonogram. After the breast sonogram, I got a call from a very chipper woman “There’s nothing there, you got all worried about nothing!” Her voice was filled with phony enthusiasm, like saccharin and crushed Prozac. But I craved those reassuring words so much that I swallowed every promise she told me and buried the fear deep inside. After my second sonogram 6 months later, and again at 12 months I was told “You’re fine!” Did she really think I was fine, or did she just brush me off as a 28-year old hypochondriac? Was I crazy to question her about why a non-cancerous tumor was getting bigger? Why didn’t she recommend a biopsy? We trust these people with our lives, but in reality they don’t enjoy unearthing bad news just as much as we don’t enjoy hearing it. Maybe that’s why she didn’t dig, and neither did I. I now realize that a framed piece of paper saying that someone is a doctor will never trump a gut intuition.

Finally, I went to a different doctor who biopsied the lump, and well, you know the rest. I guess I had to grow a backbone and stand up for my intuition. It was either that, or start digging myself a grave. I could have buried my head in the sand, and listened to my doctors who all told me that I couldn’t get breast cancer because I was too young, too healthy, and had no family history of the disease. I’m not saying don’t listen to your doctor; I’m saying listen to yourself first and foremost and find a doctor who agrees.

I’m sure I’ll still get asked all of those questions a thousand times more, and I’m happy to answer them. But please educate yourself on the signs and symptoms of breast cancer. It could just save your life.

Namaste, ladies.

It’s 2017: Where is My Flying Car and Cancer Cure?

To infinity and beyond!

I dream of a future where we can take a pill and our cancer will be gone forever. Of a world that doesn’t have disease, and if we’re feeling sick we can just “reboot” our body like it’s a laptop. And when we need a new organ, we can teleport over to the hospital where a cyborg doctor zaps us with a space zapper thing to replace our old pickled liver with a fresh one that was grown using our own stem cells. Who’s coming with me?

Right now, we’re at the dawn of a paradigm shift where artificial intelligence and technology govern a future that we can’t even fathom. The distant reality of what’s in store for our world may actually look a lot like The Jetsons with flying cars and robots (minus the racism, sexism, and kitschy futurism). But The Jetsons can’t even comprehend some of these absurd advances in science. Like, a cancer vaccine. The technology is close; Gardasil^® and Cervarix^® are HPV vaccinations that prevents certain gynecological cancers already. Or what if a bra could monitor our breasts for early signs of cancer? Well shut the front door, because the technology already exists! Medical and scientific research is on the brink of discovering remarkable technology; so get excited.

The World Health Organization predicts the amount of new cancer cases will rise 70% in the next two decades. It’s a terrifying number, and also the reason money is pouring into startup companies focused on developing oncology technologies and advanced cognizant search algorithms.

A.I. or artificial intelligence is the future of diagnosing and possibly curing cancer. The development of safe A.I. has given us as a more powerful, efficient human brain that can search thousands of sets of data using context and reasoning. I can barely walk and talk at the same time; but Watson–IBM’s “Jeopardy” winning supercomputer—can read through the equivalent of 1 million books in 1 second to generate a personalized, evidence-based treatment plan for my specific cancer. Watson can find new treatments and clinical trials that your oncologist may not be aware of. And it’s available to you now, your physician can request a report through Quest Diagnostics.

The applications for A.I. are endless. CureMetrix is a startup company using algorithms for image analysis to detect anomalies in mammograms and X-rays that have been missed by the human eye. While these technologies can’t and won’t replace a doctor’s human instincts, they do increase the patient’s care and prognosis.

In the future, maybe we’ll just rewrite our DNA? CRISPR-Cas9 is a controversial technology that allows scientists to do just that; edit DNA in a gene sequence by using two key molecules to cut into specific parts of the genome to forcefully mutate it. Theoretically, this could be used to reprogram cancer cells, although we still don’t understand why cells turn cancerous. That’s where Microsoft’s big brain is coming to the rescue – they have announced a plan to “solve” cancer by identifying exactly why cells become cancer. If we can understand how a cancer cell mutates, we can probably fix it.

This all sounds wonderful, but A.I. and genetically modified cells is how the zombie robot apocalypse starts, right? According to Hollywood, yes. The same Hollywood that also made five Sharknado movies about a tornado with sharks in it, and like, thirty-eight movies about sparkling vampires. It’s possible that this technology could be used to create terminator robots, but many smart, rich people like Elon Musk are not going to let that happen.

In our lifetime, we may not have flying cars, or the ability to transfer our conscience into a robotic Chihuahua—but we will find a better solution for cancer. Chemotherapy and radiation will become antiquated treatments. I doubt humankind will achieve immortality anytime soon; but at least there will be a lot less suffering and disease. So, thank you to the scientists, doctors and smart people for your amazing work. 2017 is a strange time, but I am optimistic of the future. Also, I’d like to thank them ahead of time for my freshly grown liver, because this bottle of rosé isn’t going to drink itself tonight.

This article first appeared on breastcancer-news.com.

A Surgery Guide from Your Breast Reconstruction Sherpa

Get ready betches!

It’s no secret that I’ve had a few surgeries in the last two years (eight!). I guess you could call me a professional surgery-taker, a mastectomy aficionada, a reconstruction sherpa. Well, I’m here to share some of my do’s and don’ts of surgery so you can plow through the ordeal like you’re Michael Phelps at the Olympics.

If you don’t have breast cancer, you can still use this surgery guide because it mostly applies to all hospital procedures.

Be prepared before surgery. This is the most important point. I had major “chemo brain” once and forgot to pick up my prescriptions, pre-register at the hospital, check the time I needed to show up, set out extra clothes for changing at the hospital, etc. The morning was absolute chaos, and I spent the majority of it running around like I was being chased by a swarm of wasps. Take a few hours the day before your surgery to take care of business.

Get to know the nurses and hospital staff. Be kind to them, they literally have your life in their hands. Being nice goes a long way: an extra pillow and more attention.

Get comfy. You need to be prepared after your surgery with a cozy little recuperation spot at home. Do this ahead of time. Have your pillows, blankets, meds, books, etc. all in your little recovery nest so you can lie down and go to Sleepytown once you get home. My lifesavers after surgery were a neck pillow (those ones you wear on airplanes) so you can sleep sitting up and a back scratcher. The scratcher may seem ridiculous, but pain meds will make you itchy, and when you can’t move your arms very good, it’s torture. I also recommend a pad of paper so you can write down when you take your medication. Plus, you may want to send out notes via carrier pigeon or fly paper airplanes at your television, because why not?

Listen to the doctor’s orders. When you’re discharged from the hospital, you’ll usually be given a packet of papers from your doctor that look very unexciting. You need to read them! I’ve made the mistake of throwing them away once (because I’m real smart). The stack of papers will contain specific post-surgery instructions such as when you can eat, shower, return to work, go base jumping in your wingsuit, etc.

For a mastectomy, I have a few extra bits of advice. After surgery, you’re going to have drains that are sewn into your skin to collect fluid and blood. Yikes, I know. I suggest having a few dark-colored button up shirts on hand; that way you can change easily when you need to tend to the drains, and the dark clothing is for any spills. The drains will need to be pinned to your mastectomy bra, or you can buy little pouches that will hold them comfortably under your clothes, such as Drain Dollies.

The first surgery is always the most difficult, but I promise you it gets easier. You will have some setbacks along the way, but just remember that your pain and suffering are temporary. Happiness, joy, pleasure – these things do not leave behind a scar, but pain does because it is transformative. We grow and learn from distress. When I look down at my scars, I’m reminded of the torture that cancer generously imparts on the physical body, but I can’t help but smile because of the inner strength it gave me.

You’ve got this, ladies. Surgery is tough but we’re tougher. Now raise that back scratcher up in the air like a sword!

Namaste, pink sisters.

This article first appeared on breastcancer-news.com.

If cancer were a person.

If cancer were a person.

If cancer were a person, they would be a sadistic sociopath with a vile heart. They would be cunning and sarcastic, laughing at your accomplishments and gloating about their own. They would be tasteless and tacky, cocky and offensive.

But cancer has another side. A Hyde to their Jekyll. They are brutally unbiased and non-judgmental; making no opinion on a person based on their race, age, gender, lifestyle. Cancer accepts everybody with no discrimination. It won’t stereotype you. It has an endearing work ethic, and doesn’t accept defeat readily. It’s productive and skilled at it’s craft. Cancer wants to be friends with everybody, no matter who you are.

Recently, a friend in our cancer community was given a devastating blow; it had returned. She had been in remission for a few years. Her hair grew back; enviously beautiful and long. She moved on, but cancer came back. It’s like an abusive ex-boyfriend, but worse. This news sent a shockwave through her community of followers and cancer survivors.

She is the epitome of health and hope. She did everything right and took every precaution to protect herself from cancer. If it came back for her, it will surely come back for me. But the ugly truth is that cancer doesn’t care. It’s not fair and it fucking sucks! It doesn’t care if you smoke two packs of cigarettes a day, or if you are a Vegan who drives a Prius. Sure, one of those two are statistically less likely to get cancer, but seriously who the hell knows anymore? If we all didn’t eat/drink/use the things that science claims cause cancer then we would all starve, smell, and be bored as fuck.

I’ve settled into a happy medium this past year, I try not to let cancer scare me. I do certain things to keep my cancer recurrence at bay… Tamoxifen, Tumeric, CBD, exercise, less sugar, less meat, less dairy, less alcohol (def not around the holidays though). But I also have my vices. I’m not giving up alcohol for good. I do, however, think that the years while I was drinking wine every single night and on birth control for like 10 years probably unleashed my genetic cancer mutation. But, again, who the hell knows. See previous post “Did wine give me cancer?” And occasionally when I’m a little drunk, I bum a cigarette from a friend. Bad, yes! But I am owning it. If you’d like to send me an email about how perfect YOU are, by all means do it. He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her.

Blah blah sugar is bad and I need to try an alkaline vegan diet and start taking activated charcoal and smoking weed every day. **Sighhhh** Everything causes cancer and is bad. Pollution is bad, should we stop breathing? Stop driving cars? No. Well maybe if we could all ride unicorns instead.

We’re all doing our best and I think that’s enough. We are enough. We’re held hostage in a game of Russian roulette with cancer. We really don’t know. So go on and live your life as healthy as you can. We all have our little weaknesses, but we know our bodies. I truly think that the best defense against cancer is optimism. Visualize your future without cancer. Manifest your positive thoughts into existence. THAT shit actually works pretty good. Pray for your friends and family’s health. PRAY for my friend who had a recurrence. Send her your positive vibes, prayers, energy. She’s got this! We’re all behind her.

We’re all going to be okay. I know a lot of people are freaking out about a recurrence. I did too. I still do. But I am actively making a decision to stay positive and encouraging to all my cancer warriors. Be vigilant in your journey but stay calm and know that it’s really not in your control. Surrender your fear; free fall into the peaceful energy of the universe and let it catch you and take you where you’re meant to be. Namaste betches.

Advice to the newly diagnosed

Advice to the newly diagnosed

Recently, I had a close friend who was diagnosed with cancer. This was actually a first for me. This is a real life friend who has cancer – like, not a friend who I met on social media after my diagnosis. I have plenty of friends who have fought cancer, I just haven’t met 99.9% of them!

(Side note: My social media cancer friends — can we all get a cancer conference together? Or maybe we all just meet in one city and go out for a weekend where we drink cocktails and look hot AF and show the world that cancer doesn’t have shit on us?!? Seriously, I think this needs to happen.) (Update–We’re also burning our wigs in a giant bon fire.)

Back to the main topic – I told my friend “welcome to the club!” because he’s now my cancer buddy! Also, he’s the same age as me so he’s joining the young cancer club which is an elite few 🙂

So we pow-wowed a bit and talked about cancer. He told me that his diagnosis was very eye opening, because before it happens to you personally, you kind of tend to make broad generalizations about cancer. When I say personally, I mean either YOU have cancer or your close family/friend does. And when I say “broad generalizations” I mean that most people don’t know jack shit about cancer. The unknown is what causes panic, fear, anxiety. The panic causes us to Google. The googling causes us to panic more.

So in light of our realization that most people don’t know shit about what it’s like to have cancer, I wanted to share a few things. For the newly diagnosed (whether it’s you, a friend, or family member) 7 little tidbits of advice and what to expect — because I wish that I had somebody who told me these things.

First of all, when you’re first diagnosed you’re fucking scared. (Duh, you know that) You basically start planning your own funeral.
I want everybody to wear white, not black, drink vodka sodas, eat Royal Farms chicken, and have Elton John play Tiny Dancer. Oh, and blast my ashes into outer space in a pink sparkley rocket.
As cool as your funeral plans may be, just stop it. You probably went on the internet and found the worst-of-the-worst cancer diagnosis scenario and are now convinced that you’re going to die. Stop it. Step away from the Google machine. Questions? Call a doctor, not WebMD. The internet is not your friend; the internet is the boy in 2^nd grade who stole your Lunchable.

Secondly, Cancer is (usually) more emotionally taxing on your loved ones than it is on you. Why? Because YOU (as the cancer patient) know that you’re inherently going to be fine. Sure you will freak out at first, but eventually, after you have sat with the doctors, after you know what a PET scan is, you know what your options are. You already threw those imaginary funeral plans in the invisible trash because – guess what— today more people are living from cancer than dying. But most people don’t really seem to grasp that. Especially your crazy [insert emotionally unstable relative here] who is so completely incapacitated with worrying about you that you find yourself always calming them. HELLO?!… This crazy relative doesn’t have cancer, but that doesn’t stop them from hyperventilating in Home Goods because they found napkins with pink breast cancer ribbons on them.
So the neurotic relatives are one thing — but whoever your caretaker is during this time (husband/wife/mom/etc) — be extra nice to them. It’s the hardest on these people. They may not be the ones that are sick, but they see you at your worst. The burden that they carry as your lifeline during your darkest hour is heavier than they are ever obligated to endure. It’s an emotional crusade to stay strong, to be the rock, to tell white lies to family when they ask how you’re doing (Doing great!). When really… you spent the past two nights throwing up like you did in your high school/college party days after you drank enough “jungle juice” to drown an elephant. The caretakers are our unsung heroes.

Third, prepare for a shitstorm of questions. You’re going to get questions and comments from anybody and everybody you’ve ever met (like that annoying girl you sat next to in freshman Poly Sci who now has enough babies to start her own little league team), and they are going to be so stupid/invasive/absurd that you’re going to whisper to yourself “whatttt the fuuucck” more times than you can count. Because they will ask things like: “Oh, so I guess now you can’t really have kids, because you can’t breastfeed right?” I’m not sure this person knows how a baby is born. Perhaps an anatomy lesson is due. “So what does cancer FEEL like? You could feel it right? It hurts?” If I could feel cancer… I would have been diagnosed a lot sooner, ya genius. I had a tumor, and yes I could feel that, but cancer doesn’t really have a feeling. Its symptoms are rarely noticeable which is why it goes undiagnosed in most people. “Oh you’re not going to die, the prognosis is good, right?” Just… never, ever ask a cancer patient about their life expectancy unless you are a doctor. Well, even if you are a doctor, you’re still running a high chance of getting crane kicked in the face because nobody wants to talk about an appraisal of their time left on Earth like we’re chit chatting about sports statistics. If they aren’t talking about it, don’t ask about it. Don’t mention dying. Ever.
So like I said earlier… please understand that most people are just misinformed, not malicious. Think about it… before your diagnosis, did you know that there were different combinations of chemo? Did you know that not everybody needs chemo, and that not every type of chemo makes your hair fall out? Did you even know what radiation is?

I admit. I didn’t know any of this. In my stupid brain I thought that people who got cancer usually died, or else it must not have been that bad. I thought that there were “good kinds of cancer” that were easy and similar to getting a virus treated with a Z-pack. I thought that people got cancer as a result of living an unhealthy lifestyle. Wrong Wrong Wrong.

Fourth — know that no matter what kind of cancer you have/had… the psychological effects remain the same whether its stage 1 or 5. Maybe you had stage 1 and the cancer was removed with minor surgery and no further treatment. Maybe you had stage 4 and cancer riddled your bones and the crevices of your insides. The self loathing and guilt that comes with a cancer diagnosis can be crippling. It fucks with your mind. Why did this happen to me? Was it because I [insert any bad vice/behavior here]? Did I cause this? Too much bacon? Not enough green tea?

You will constantly ask yourself “Will it come back again?” With a cancer diagnosis, you also get the pleasure of the grim fucking reaper snagging a permeant home in your subconscious. This grim reaper visits in seasonal times. He’s lounging next to you at the pool or standing across from you at the bar waving — as a friendly reminder that you could die. “Howdy ho neighbor! Just here to ruin your day!”

The fear of cancer returning. The anxiety of it recklessly colonizing and disabling your body in an unexpected homecoming. It’s a paralyzing thought that can hit you at startling moments. Death stalks you.

You don’t have to tell everybody. Refer to point 3. It’s up to you. I thought I had to tell everybody. You don’t, and not everybody needs to know you have cancer.

Time will fly during this scary period in your life. Which is good. It’s not one of those times you really want to “stop and take in the moment” like they tell you at your wedding. Your diagnosis will be a flurry of appointments and treatments. You’re constantly looking towards the next date on the calendar, next doctor, next chemo, next follow up. Before you know it you’re sitting here 1.5 years later with actual hair on your head, eyelashes, and new boobs. If you had chemo like I did, you’ll probably not remember a lot of the specifics during the hectic times (chemo brain – see previous post). The memories will float in your brain like a clouded drunk memory. Pretty neat-o!

You’re going to be okay. Cancer taught me that even if I do…die…someday from cancer… that will be ok too. I’m not afraid to die. It will make you brave in weird ways you can’t understand. It makes your family brave. It makes relationships stronger. It makes your faith stronger. You’re going to be fucking fine! Calm your tits.

If you’re newly diagnosed, or just have questions feel free to ask me. I have plenty more unsolicited advice! Even if your questions are weird and hopefully just mildly offensive that’s fine too. I want to educate people. There are too many things that we don’t ask or don’t say to each other because we’re afraid or embarrassed. Get over it, talk about it. Put an end to this stigma that cancer is a death sentence or that it’s contagious (oh yeah, forgot to mention I’ve heard that question too).

Be nice to each other, stay healthy. Ciao betches.

Eyelash extensions can go to Hell

It’s a love-hate relationship. Like, right now, I hate them. I got eyelash extensions the first week in April, when my eyelashes were presumably long enough to have extensions. The salon I went to was overjoyed to have me, and my $210. YES, that’s right: $175 plus I gave a $35 tip. Plus… I went back twice to get them “filled” for $80 each time. Round of applause for me. Again, I’ve found something stupid that I’ve wasted my money on. If you haven’t noticed, I am suffering from extreme buyers remorse at all the things I could have spent my money on instead of dead eyelashes.

I am going to refrain from listing the salon’s name, because truthfully I don’t think it was THEIR fault. I don’t think that the lash technician had actually ever put eyelash extensions on a chemo patient, so I don’t think they knew what to expect. I think that they just hoped for the best and swiped that credit card faster than a vegan at Whole Foods.

The first time was great, she placed small, thin individual lashes on my lashes. It basically just made them longer, which is what I wanted! Four weeks later, I had them filled and there was a new lady… she put on larger cluster lashes because she wanted to give me a “cat eye” look. I didn’t ask for this cat-eye look, but when she said “all finished!” in her upbeat Ukrainian accent and popped a mirror infront of my face, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Hot damn, momma’s lashes looked good!

Those lasted about a week before they started rapidly falling out and taking out my real lashes with them. Soon, I had large gaps and awkward chunks missing in my lash line. Hot damn, momma looks like a HOT MESS.

I went back in to get them filled by the same girl who originally did my lashes. She explained that the reason they were all falling out is because eyelash extensions are basically “like putting a really heavy backpack on a really small kid… the weight is too much for him to carry and he can’t grow if he’s carrying so much weight.”

**Sighhhhh**

Well since I was already there, I figured I’d try it one more time. So she tried to help me out. She put on really small, thin lashes very sparingly and tried to just make them look normal again. I barely lasted three days before over half of them had fallen back out. My lashes had clearly had enough. They were exhausted from carrying these heavy fake spears of vanity and gave up on life.

**Moment of silence for all of my fallen lashes**

By day 6, the extensions were all gone. Every. Single. Lash…. was now somewhere in my Dyson vacuum laying solemnly in a grave of gray dust and pet hair.

The point of my sad sob story isn’t to make you feel sorry for me and my stupid fleeting eyelashes_before_after attempts at vanity. I actually just wanted to send out a warning signal out there into the cancer community to anybody considering doing this as well. I really didn’t know this could happen. I thought I did enough research prior to my decision to get the extensions… but I didn’t look hard enough or talk to enough people. So heed my warning betches considering the pros and cons of these fluttery felons!

Yesterday, I told my plastic surgeon about my sad eyelash story. Without sympathy or regard, he told me to take Latisse like he had prior advised. OK I get it, nobody feels sorry for me. I impatiently sabotaged my normal, healthy growing eyelashes with these fake lash-slaying harpoons on my lids. Whatevsssss. LIVE and LEARN people. Live and learn.

My next plan of action is that I am trying castor oil on my lashes… which has been advised by numerous other cancer patients… and I’m going to suck it up and buy the Latisse. Which actually costs less than the extensions. For those wondering… castor oil is not motor oil! It’s from some sort of bean… a …castor bean? I assume. Yes. I Googled and it’s a bean. Also, my Google search revealed that these beans are also commonly used by children in Brazil as slingshots. Soooo there’s that.

If anybody has any other things you advise, please let me know! I am open to LITERALLY ANYTHING. I am even rubbing slingshot bean oil on my eyes for fuck’s sake!

I just wanted to end this post on a side note about hair. I’m really missing my long hair lately. Many of you who know me, know that I also like to “twirl” my hair while I’m working or thinking. Can’t do that now, and it’s driving me bananas So if you’re having a bad hair day, or think you hate your long hair and want to “pull a Britney Spears” and shave it all … Kindly shut the fuck up and go rub some oil in your eyes. HA! Ok ciao betches.

Buy my Fuck Cancer bracelets!

www.etsy.com/shop/BetchesGuidetoCancer

By popular demand, I’m selling my bracelets on Etsy! I also can do custom bracelets. Want something crazy? Is Pizza your BAE and you want everyone to know it? I can make you a “I <3 Pizza” bracelet to show your love. Or maybe you hate everyone and want one that says “I hate everyone.” Whatever your sweet little heart desires, my darling! I got you betch!

I’m also in the process of getting some fun tank tops and t-shirts made. They will be available soon!