And my body was all, "Forget you, I'm tired. I'm not making anymore cells.": My Low WBC Count and Hair Loss

Hello Everyone, 

I write to you from the depths of my incredibly cluttered, middle-school-decorative-boy-band-poster-filled bedroom. I must say, however, that I had planned to write this post while immersed in the illustrious and beautiful Ithaca. And this is where my chemo treatment takes a sharp turn into Reality Town...

If you read my last post, you'll know that I have been feeling great lately. My energy level is significantly higher than it was during my first week of treatment and I haven't felt nauseous at all. In addition, my appetite has been fairly normal. All that being said, I thought, "Well, golly gee wilikers, Johnny! I've been feeling real chipper lately, why not go see my good ol' friends up at Cornell?!" The plans were made and my mom was willing to drive me up to Ithaca so I could spend a few days with my friends. I had only told a few people and I was planning on surprising everyone else. I was also going to bring Peanut. It would have been a grand old time. My mom and I were set to leave after I finished my treatment for the week on Tuesday, Day 16. So we get to the treatment center, and it was the first time I wasn't wearing sweatpants (I was super ready for Ithaca). I knew this was a big change because when I walked in, a nurse looked at me as if to say, "Oh, so you do own real clothing." Yes, woman, I own real clothing but I'm not going to dress up every time I kill cells in my body. It just doesn't make sense. Anyway, so I show up lookin' good. I started the appointment by getting some blood work done so my doctor and my nurses could see how my body was doing. You know, cell counts and whatnot. The results that came back were not so great. My white blood cell count was really really low. It was actually 1/3 of the level it needed to be to receive chemo treatment. Luckily, I was scheduled to receive Bleomycin on Day 16, and that doesn't affect white blood cell count, so I didn't have to delay treatment. However, because my white blood cell count was so low it changed some things for me. One of the biggest concerns was exposure. My immune system can't do much for me right now so if I were to be exposed to bacteria or a virus, I'd probably die (not really, but it'd feel like I was dying). My body doesn't have the means of fighting off any kind of illness, so my trip to Ithaca was cancelled due to the fact that my body sucks and isn't recovering fast enough. This was probably the first time that I crossed my arms, made a pouty face, and said "I hate cancer" like a five year-old girl. I guess this is a good thing, because I could have said that when...oh, I don't know....I had a gigantic tumor for an ovary. When I look at the big picture, yes, it sucks that I couldn't make my trip to Ithaca for the week and see all of my friends, but it's not the end of the world. And my parents and I agreed that it would be a lot less risky for me to go to Ithaca on Friday and come back on Saturday. That way I can still see some of my friends and I can avoid more exposure than necessary. The only unfortunate thing about this is that I can only see a few people. So if you're reading this now and you're in Ithaca and you didn't hear directly from me that I am coming on Friday...I probably can't see you. I have to stick to the same 5-7 people while I'm there and I can't go into restaurants and stores. But don't worry, this is only temporary. Once my body starts producing more white blood cells, I can hang out with whoever I want. AINT NOBODY GONNA STOP ME. NOT EVEN ME, which ironically enough is what's stopping me now.

I guess now we can discuss one of the side effects of chemo: hair loss. It's happening. My hair is starting to fall out. And I'm not talking about, "Haha oh noooo. Ewww your hair is on the couch. You're like a dog you shed so much! Grosssssy poo!" No. My hair is falling out in chunks. You can see my scalp. For those of you who don't know me, I am an Egyptian woman with thick, dark, curly hair. You don't just see my scalp. That's not a thing that happens. It's pretty nerve-wracking for me. I know that may sound vain, but I have always been self conscious about my hair. And now that I can't really control what happens with my hair, I'm pretty terrified. I LOVED my hair. I loved having good hair days and I loved wearing nice clothes and doing my hair all pretty and looking good walking to class and looking good taking notes and wearing glasses and looking all smart and stuff. And now that I won't have hair, well, I just don't know how I'm going to rock my awesome outfits. Obviously, it's something that I can get used to, but it will take time.

My friend and I decided that when I'm in Ithaca on Friday, we're going to brush out my hair. Meaning, we will probably expect to brush my hair, but will end up pulling large patches of my hair out. Once I have a big enough bald spot, WE'RE GOING TO SHAVE MY HEAD. I already have a bunch of hair styles I want to try before we completely shave it. First, I'm going to cut my hair off so I can donate it to Locks of Love. Then I want to try a fohawk. Then I want to shave certain parts of my head so that it looks like a cornfield. Somewhere in there I want to put huge spikes in my hair with gel. I'm also going to give myself a big mohawk, then a small mohawk. After that I'm going to buzz my head and shave gang signs all over. I haven't decided if I want to be the Bloods or the Cripps yet though. Maybe I'll just shave Wawa on the back of my head (WHERE MY WAWA FANS AT?!). After I'm done trying out all of the different hair styles, I will finally shave my head. Don't worry, I will take a picture of each style and be sure to put it in my next post.

In other news, I AM NOW ACCEPTING HENNA TATTOO IDEAS FOR MY SHAVED HEAD. These are the ideas I have so far. Keep in mind, my tattoo won't be in color.

These ideas are still in the works...For instance, I'm not quite sure I like the heart in the third one. Seems a little too far to the right. 

Okay, that's all for now. I'LL BE SURE TO POST WITH PICS ONCE MY HEAD IS SHAVED.

STEROIDS: A Cancer Patient's Miracle Drug (and Other Exciting News)

Dearest Readers,

I have exciting news for all of you. I think the steroid I was given on Day 9 (yesterday) may have been an overdose (not really), or at least it feels that way. Let me break it down for you. Actually, let me first explain why this is exciting. One, because I can say I overdosed on steroids (again, not really). And two, because it makes me feel powerful. Okay, now let me break it down for you. Yesterday's treatment started off with an appointment with my oncologist. She looked at my rash from last week--which, by the way, is an embarrassing thing to say on the internet--and realized that there was some skin discoloration. I look like I've been beaten and battered on the right side of my rib cage, and that is what I will tell people because it's a better story than an allergic reaction. After the appointment, I watched some TV and patiently awaited my drugs. Remember that I got my picc-line in last Thursday so my waiting time did NOT include getting stuck with an IV needle (yaysies all around)! My treatment started off with some Decadron, the steroid of choice, and then came the Benadryl to pre-medicate my allergy to Bleo, and finally Bleomycin, the chemo drug. I have no idea why I decided to do this, but I did. I fought the Benadryl. I just felt like it needed to be done. I didn't want to pass out, ass up in the middle of the treatment center from the sedative effects of Benadryl. So there I am watching the View conducting a slurred, high-off-Benadryl conversation with my nurse about her kids and Education Policy in today's America. If you're wondering--I do sometimes regret decisions that I make.

After I finished treatment, I went home and passed out, ass up in the comfort of my own home. With my dog. Once again, yaysies all around. Once I woke up from my nap I felt the side effects of the steroid start to kick in. These included things like alertness and hunger, or in the case of a cancer patient, normal functioning. I finally felt like myself again. My energy level was the highest in been in a long time. Even after my surgery I felt tired and had a lessened appetite, and my first 8 days of chemo treatment didn't make it any better. So when my steroid overdose on Day 9 rolled around, it was welcomed with open arms. The only downside to the effects of the steroid is wakefulness. I couldn't fall asleep until 4 AM last night and I woke up very alert this morning at 9. An upside to the steroid is hunger, or in my case, too much hunger. For breakfast this morning I had 3 pancakes, 2 slices of pizza, half a bag of pistachios, a granola bar, and a big glass of milk. It felt amazing to be able to eat again, even if that breakfast could have fed a small village in Ethiopia. I'm a horrible person, I already know. Haters gon' hate. My energy level today also felt pretty awesome. I spent most of the day reading and painting and playing with my puppy. I even drove 20 minutes away to a Barnes and Noble BY MYSELF just to read and be all intellectual and shit BY MYSELF. As you can see, I'm totally cool and hipster because I go out and read and do smart things by myself, and it's NOT because I don't have friends, it's because I'm really cool and really hipster. Just chillin' over here by myself writing on mah blog, because you knowwwww, that's what hipsters do. Hipsters have blogs.

Okay, I think it's time for other exciting news...So, I started this blog so that friends and family could keep up with my treatment. Lately, I've realized that my blog has gotten around and strangers have begun to read the blog as well. THIS IS AWESOME. I did not expect that at all. Actually (this is the most exciting part), so far I've had two total strangers message me and tell me that they were really "inspired" by my blog and "proud" of me. I used quotes so my friends would know I didn't make that up. The strangers may or may not have also said that I'm "really really ridiculously good looking"...note the quotes...

ANYWAY, I think it's super cool that total randos (credit to my good friend Daisy for that one) find my blog interesting. I hope my blog continues to intrigue! As for my audience, my blog dashboard tells me that I have readers in the U.S. (possibly including Alaska--Iva Karoly-Lister???), Canada (thanks to the Jenners), Australia, Egypt, Finland, Bermuda, Czech Republic, UAE, Switzerland, and Vietnam (Thanks, Ashley Hughes ;)). This is all really exciting stuff to me. If you're a stranger and you find my posts funny or you want to message me and tell me how offensive you think I am for making jokes about my cancer, that's cool too! I love talking to people! Just go ahead and message me, I'll definitely respond. Or make a fake blog account and post hate comments on my blogs, I don't care. I just want to talk to someone. I'm so lonely--I mean, hipster.

Last but not least, some weird side effects from chemo this week: random ringing in my ears.

Blog creds to this little one for helping me write this bad boy:

No animals were harmed in the making of this water color painting.

Cancer?! I Hardly Know Her

They say common side effects of chemotherapy are nausea, loss of hair, loss of taste and smell, and the list goes on. This post will be about my first experiences dealing with the onset of these side effects. Luckily, not all of the side effects have set in yet, i.e. I still got mah long Egyptian maneeeee. REPPIN DA HOMELAND.

I'd like to start off with nausea. Woe be unto the one who feels as if they are about to vomit, may the Lord be with thee. I'm pretty sure that's in the Bible, right? For all of my Dane Cook fans out there, nausea for cancer patients is like the Karen in your group of friends. Nobody wants Karen around, but for some reason, she's always there. And at the most inopportune times. For instance, I was going to FINALLY leave the house today and go shopping because I was feeling up to it and about 5 minutes before I was about to leave I felt like the plague set in. Nausea and what felt like the beginnings of the flu had me back in bed. About an hour later I felt up to going, BUT STILL. The PAIN I had to suffer. Kidding, it wasn't that bad. Actually, I have a better story...

My first vomit. I won't tell you what it was that upchucked because I fear that I might upchuck that same thing again even though I have vowed to never set foot near it again. I had just strolled through the kitchen on my way upstairs to take a shower, when all of a sudden, the nausea set in. Yes, sometimes the smell or thought of food makes me want to vomit. My friends know how much I love food. This is definitely my worst nightmare. 

There I am pacing back and forth in my parents bathroom, when my dad walks in. He asks if I'm okay. I say, I feel nauseous. About 3 seconds later, I say, "I think I'm going to vomit." Stricken with vomit anxiety, I immediately forgot how to assume proper position when upchuck realization is made. So, my dad instructs me. It was very obvious he was confused about why I didn't know how to do this on my own. It was almost as if he was saying, "Did I not raise you to drink enough that you would at least know how to HUG A TOILET?" Okay, so I got into position. And I let it flow. As Melissa McCarthy would say, it came out of me "like lava". My dad saw the whole thing, and he knew exactly what to do in the moment. I finished up and he handed me a few tissues and said, "Wipe your face," and walked out of the bathroom. 

My dad always knew how to address things with me. It is perfect every time. When I make a mistake or vomit my lunch in a toilet, all I really want is for someone to hand me some tissues and say, "Wipe your face." I know what I need to do from there. There's no reason to coddle me. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is... thanks, Dad! (Notice I said my dad knew what to do "in the moment". He brought up the event later at dinner and ruined the appetite of the rest of my family in seconds--WHAT ARE DADS FOR.)

In other news, my sense of taste is almost gone. The doctor told me that food could also have a metallic taste, so I guess no taste is better than eating metal. 

Alright, I know why most of you are here: Peanut. I promised some puppy photos, so here they are.

The Peanut atop a chic wool blanket, imported from Paris, France (Made of real models)

The Peanut. She don't curr. She ain't scurred.

Trick or Treatment

So, I decided that for Halloween 2013, I would be a cancer patient. "Why?" you ask? Well, I just thought the timing of my ovarian cancer diagnosis was a little too close to Halloween (actually, it was more than a month before Halloween, but I don't have any other ideas). Before I throw myself under a big ol' fat bus with this blog, I should probably point out that I like to deal with serious situations by telling jokes. This is not to say that I don't take my illness seriously, I just have my own way of dealing with it.

Maybe I should start off with how I was diagnosed. THIS IS A FUNNY STORY...About halfway through the summer, I had this crazy stomach reaction to a healthy meal of Hot Fries and Purity Ice Cream. I know, right? As if I needed more vegetables. Anyway, the pain came on all of a sudden and I thought that my stomach was trying to tell me that it hated me. I dramatically sprawled out on my bed and claimed it was appendicitis or colonitis or some kind of itis that I don't know about. The pain went away, and so did my worries. About a few weeks later, the same kind of pain came on. This time it was after a healthy meal of spicy Thai food and, you guessed it, PURITY ICE CREAM. Again, my stomach hated me for the decisions I continued to make. I bet you're asking yourself how I was diagnosed if I kept covering up my cancer with awful food combinations and thus atrocious stomach reactions. Well, the stomach pains eventually started coming and going more randomly. In fact, I knew something was wrong when I had grilled chicken and broccoli for dinner (MY STOMACH LOVES DAT STUFF) and still had abdominal pains. Now to the actual diagnosis: the abdominal issues became too much one random Sunday night and I finally went to the ER expecting to be diagnosed with colonitis. After the doctor convinced me to do an ultrasound, he found a tumor on my left ovary the size of a small football. Apparently the large tumor was pressing up against my nearby organs and causing all this pain. I was diagnosed with a teratoma, 99% of which are benign. I was upset about this hiccup in the road, but so happy that the doctors were able to figure out what was wrong.

Fast forward a week later...the surgeon performing my surgery to remove the tumor found a malignancy. For the first time in my life, I AM THE ONE PERCENT. And I'm damn proud of it. Because I now have the opportunity to face something bigger than myself, something I never thought I would face in a million years. I get to stand alongside many that have gone before me, many that are fighting with me, and many that have fought and won.

Today is day 5 of my chemo treatment, which overall is not very fun, but I'm sure there are people who have it worse. My treatment consists of 3 cycles of 21 days each. For the first 5 days of each cycle, I start my 4 hour session with a dose of steroid, then I receive my first chemo drug, Etoposide. After, I receive a diuretic and electrolytes, and finish off the session with Cisplatin. On days 2, 9, and 18, I also receive a drug called Bleomycin. So far, I've only had 3 bad experiences with my chemo treatment. The first one has actually nothing to do with chemo. I spilled water all over myself and had to sit in wet sweatpants for the entirety of my 4 hour treatment...on the first day...The second bad experience was a bad reaction to an anti-nausea drug that was being administered. There was a sudden harsh pain in my arm with the IV site and, yes...I cried, but I'm going to say it was because I wasn't expecting the pain. ALSO, I HAVE CANCER SO STOP BEING AN ASS. My third bad experience was on the second day of treatment. I had an allergic reaction to the Bleomycin and got a pretty nasty rash that is still lurking around, but the doc says it's all good, so no need to start a clinical trial on it.

According to my nurses, my veins are small and suck so yesterday I had a picc-line inserted into my left arm. It's pretty cool. It's basically a fancy IV that runs all the way to a larger vein near my heart. I can keep it in throughout my entire treatment and I don't have to get pricked with needles everyday!

Wow, I look like a junkie.

Anyway, I think I've wrote enough to make myself believe that people will actually read this. If for some reason I hear that someone is reading this, maybe I'll post a picture of my puppy!!!!