It’s been a while…

Hi! I’m still here! And yes, that’s me wearing a banana clip.

It’s been a while since I’ve written on my blog. Social media has once again rendered me slightly apathetic; I’ve gone dark passing behind the moon in my seasonal orbit. Lately, Instagram is a heavy, gray cloud saturated with depressing news of cancer colleagues having recurrences or passing away. People are sick. Cancer still has no cure. I try to avert my eyes from these daily reminders—the Devil’s malevolent propaganda—as I scroll over the irritating fluorescence of my iPhone screen.

Call it self-preservation. I refuse to accept that death or relapse may someday happen to me too…eluding the scientific realities of my Oncotype-DX score which contrarily reminds me of the extremely high probability that I will, in fact, get cancer again. But who wants to talk about that? So, I try to go on Instagram and Facebook minimally to avoid the terrifying reminders of my immortality. Not in a head-in-the-sand kind of way, but more like peeping through the doorhole occasionally, just to see who’s out there long enough for me to recluse myself inside and shut the blinds.

This is where my insecurities and anxiety—the “What if’s?” and “Why not me?” chasms uproot themselves in the catatonic feeds of social news. Where I’m reminded that I had cancer; a fact that I’m intentionally trying to rescind to the back of my mind. Where I feel suffocating guilt that I survived while others have not.

I find myself immersed in this sad, parallel social media universe where the majority of the world is healthy, flourishing, rich, beautiful… and the latter portion is sick and dying. The uber highs of social elitism where solipsism is the reigning religion, and the radical lows where only the sick can see the laurel-crowned healthy.

Scrolling IG… women having babies, couples on vacation in Monte Carlo. People in bathing suits posing in a mirror, filled up by their own narcissistic fascination which spills over the brim of their Fit-Tea shaker bottle that they were paid to advertise. I continue scrolling with mechanical engrossment. Not in a cynical way, but in an envious way as I absorb myself senselessly, mindlessly, and scroll through the lives of strangers. Social media is supposed to connect people, but more-and-more I feel like I am an extraterrestrial who is enrolled in the study of cultural anthropology via Instagram.

It’s unnatural, to observe people like we’re bird watchers. Like internet surveillance officers without boundaries. But I still do it. Posts about recurrences and deaths become a horrifying obsession because it feels like I’m living it with them. That could be me. My innermost horrors sustained in this fixation.

Recently, I found two small lumps on my collarbone lymph nodes. Don’t Google it, they’ll tell you you have cancer. I spent a few days maniacally Googling and obsessively Instagram stalking for any relevant circumstances. Drowning in panic. It happens to all of us. After calming down, I remembered that the internet is a dumpster fire full of shit and fake information which can not diagnose anything except stupidity. I obediently sought out my oncologist’s opinion, who was confidently unalarmed. The cervical lymph nodes support the mouth/salivary glands, and my recent cold was likely why they felt swollen. We all crave those sweet, saccharin words of consolation from our doctors.  I’ve requested a PET scan; although, I can’t bring myself to actually schedule it because any notion of truth that my worst nightmares may actually become reality has left me frozen in apprehension.  Maybe it’s not cancer, but I know my body better than anybody with three degrees hanging on their office wall.

The anxiety of a recurrence never leaves a cancer survivor. But I’ve found ways to placate these fears by avoiding social media—one of my triggers. I realized that my valuable time spent alive—which is a gift— was being occupied by the lives of strangers. Wasted on the scrolling. Wasted on memes, celebrity gossip, political banter. Idle time spent malnourishing myself on social media was becoming a crutch for procrastination.

So that’s where I’ve been: circumventing the growing hedonistic obsession with Instagram. Avoiding the captivating allure of all social media.  All for my own sanity. Not because I don’t kind of love it… in a grossly self-indulgent way, but because it’s side effects –emotional anemia, phony confidence —attempt to mold me into a creature detached from reality. I’ve recently given more time to things that I value. Like, talking to real people in person (not on social media or text.) Writing. Although, I recently went 2 months without opening my laptop. Traveling. Reading. Making crafty shit. Stuff we used to do before the internet was invented. Riding bikes, going swimming. Remember that Oregon Trail floppy disk game? Those were the days. All of the people in your wagon have died of dysentery. Please press spacebar to continue.

Thank you to the people who have reached out to me and noticed that I haven’t posted much on social media and asked how I am doing. I’m doing great. I’m doing actual life stuff! Like… I got my motorcycle license—ya know, incase there’s ever an end-of-the-world post-apocalyptic scenario where a motorcycle is my only way to escape flesh-eating zombies. Time wisely spent, if you ask me. I’m using this phase on the dark side of the moon for more “me time.” More mindfulness. More praying for a cure. More holding the door for strangers. More talking… to actual people.

Less Google. Less social media. Less comparison. Less fucks given.

7 Things I Wish I Knew Before Starting Chemo

Hands and feet in ice!

Chemo drunk is a feeling I can’t justly describe with words and adjectives.

I’ll take you back a bit: It’s December 21 and I’ve just finished my last chemo session at the hospital. I’m home, trying to have a conversation with my mom, but my eyes keep fixating on the velvet glow from a Yankee Candle. She says something funny and I laugh, a few seconds too late.

My mind is soupy and slow, like bisque that’s started to congeal. I hear words but my thoughts are lost in the emptiness of space. I meticulously toil over sentences, calculating each one through my head with the speed of an early edition fax machine. Something metallic catches my eye, the hardware on my mother’s purse, and now I’m hypnotized by how the silver reflects the flickering candle. It feels like my eyes are lost. They don’t know what to look toward, so they find light and drift to it drunkenly. My body is buzzing inside. I’m an old noisy refrigerator.

This feeling is nothing like alcohol intoxication. This is what it feels like to be dying. My cells, both good and bad, are being devoured as the poisonous cocktail of chemotherapy drugs flows through my veins. I’m being brought to the brink of death, just so I can rebuild. It’s war; destroy the enemy with brute force, but the victor suffers the casualties of battle as well.

You don’t want to be left wounded on the battlefield. Chemo is an experience we’re mostly unprepared to handle. My first few times were terrifying and I didn’t know what I was doing or what to expect. So, I’d like to share seven things I wish I had known about chemo before I started.

  1. You should drink so much water during chemo that you will feel like a water balloon. If you can’t drink water, try Gatorade, juice, or popsicles. I suggest you pack a lunch like you’re in third grade and your mom has just let you buy anything from the grocery store. Chemo is time-consuming and boring; knowing that you will have a few hours to sit around and eat whatever you want is something to look forward to.
  2. Ice your feet and toes! I’m shocked at how many hospitals don’t practice this method to prevent neuropathy. My infusion nurse would bring me two buckets of ice water and rubber gloves before chemo. I’d soak my hands/feet for one long, miserable hour during Taxotere (docetaxel) treatment. It’s not fun, but I never had any neuropathy or damage to my nails.
  3. You’re toxic. Your pee and saliva are toxic. The nurse will tell you that you need to flush the toilet at least twice and don’t share food or drinks with people.
  4. Chemo isn’t the only drug you’ll be getting. Steroids, antihistamines, anti-nausea and anti-anxiety drugs are just some of the usual pre-chemo meds. I took Emend (aprepitant), which is a three-day pack of pills that prevents nausea. I never threw up
  5. Dress warmly; hospitals are cold. Bring fuzzy socks or slippers for after your feet get an ice bath.
  6. If your hair falls out, it will start on the 14th day following chemo. And it kind of hurts. It felt like dull needles digging into my scalp. By the time I shaved my head, I just wanted it gone. I also was a little drunk (champagne), because I had a head-shaving party. … Which leads me to my last point. …
  7. You can still have a normal life. I had a party two weeks after my first chemo. I got drunk. I shaved my head. I cried. I sang Elton John songs with my friends until 3 a.m. I was alive. I was grateful. And I’m still alive because I never once let cancer or chemo stop me from living. You’re going to be fine. Drink the martini. Buy the fancy shoes. Keep on living your life, but with a tad more moxie.

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.

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.

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!

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