Depression: Part 1

Hello, been a while...and I have some things to say so if you have a few minutes and are interested in depression, how it feels, how I feel about it and what you can do, well then read on dear friends and thank you...

I felt that I was and have been so open with my cancer but not as much with issues around my own mental health and I've been thinking about why. It's very unlike me, I will talk about most things. Then I will talk about them more, and in a different way, and again and again and from every angle and with any kindred soul that will listen and engage until I feel I understand and have processed and can move on. I don't shy away from exploring or discussing my downfalls or things that hold me back, etc. Self-deprecation is an art form, and I love it. In that sense, I have touched on my own struggles with depression in this blog, as it relates to cancer...but not in other ways. It is safer for me when it was linked to a terminal illness, and as I approach my magical and once thought to be unattainable 5 year NED mark, I want to explore what this depressive disorder really is for me, unravel it from the cancer, and be open about it.

Let me start by shedding some light onto first the super bright part, and then the dark part of what this is for me. I have ups and downs, as does everyone...but when I'm up I'm really up...and it lasts for weeks or months. I'm insanely productive. I take on everything, I will say yes to everything. I don't sleep much, in part because my anxiety wakes me up, but also because life is too exciting. I feel good most all of the time, I have things to do and I think I can do them all. I will take more risks and even if they all do not pay off, my reward centers are activated because enough of them do. Sure I hit some road blocks, but I barely notice them. I might fall down but I get back up so fast I don't stop to check for injuries. No time. I can move on quickly, to the next thing. I get energy from people and I'm almost never alone. I forget to eat. I talk constantly and very quickly, my brain is going so fast all the time. I need something new every day, I don't think much about money or financial consequences. I keep it together though, and to be completely honest...this is where I spend a lot of my time. In this state. It allows me to be very good at my job, at multi-tasking, at being in a lot of different places, at experiencing the world in full color bright beautiful color. Everything is absolutely fucking beautiful all of the time. The longer it lasts, the longer I let it, I don't make myself slow down or eat the foods I'm supposed to eat...and that's where it gets bad. The longer this goes on, the more I forget about what the crash is like. There is a storm brewing, literally.

It starts to unravel. I haven't been taking care of myself. I've spent little time alone and now I begin to avoid it. I'm tired finally, but my anxiety is really taking over and making it hard to sleep so I get irritable. I don't want to slow down. I'm not ready to stop. I will self-medicate as a distraction whenever possible. When I fight it as I did these last couple of weeks the crash is heartbreakingly difficult. I go down fast and hard and sometimes I try to take people with me because I know what's next and I'm just not ready to let go. I'll grab on to someone I feel bonded to or have needed and I will feel so desperate to stay connected because I know it will feel impossible for me soon. I know I'm going to cross into this dark unreachable place where there is me, and then there is everyone else. It's been destructive and painful for me and people I love in my past and the guilt I carry from that is intense, and I'm so sorry.

And then it happens. Sure it's been building, but the pendulum swing is still very swift and brutal. I'm zapped of everything. All of the color is gone. I sat in my living room yesterday looking at the beautiful autumn light streaming in my window, you know the kind that has just this slight coolness to it, as if the sun is gently easing us from her full summer rays. The shadows of the leaves from outside dance around my floor. It's my favorite light of the year and yet all I could do was feel sad and alone. The things I have planned to look forward to, they don't matter. I'm not excited anymore. I'm under water and it's cold and dark and I don't want to be there but I can't remember the feeling of not being in that place. Emotions overwhelm logical thought. I don't want to do anything. Nothing. I cry a lot, almost constantly. It's difficult to get through a day. I give up on a lot. I feel horribly guilty on top of it all. And desperately lonely, but don't seek out time with people. It's paralyzing.

Why is this so difficult to talk about? I think what's different is that there is still so much guilt and isolation with depression and depressive disorders. There's a pressure and judgment (real and perceived) that it's something that we are doing or not doing that's making us unhappy. There is also an intense fear for me. I'm terrified when this hits...because I have a deep dark family history of mental illness and it destroyed my family and continues to do the same. Being afraid of cancer is a real and intense fear...being afraid of what could happen to my own brain is a different kind of fear for me and one I've found very hard to talk about.

Cancer was different, because when I was diagnosed I had a community, there were ribbons and t-shirts and 5k's and a team and a plan. We as a society don't really make jokes about cancer (except some of us who have had it or have it, we like to make jokes!) But we make jokes about mental illness a lot...even though it destroys lives and rips families to shreds, generation after generation. Children from bipolar parents are 50-70% more likely to develop the disorder, and 50% of them will have a brush with suicide. How often have you heard some one jokingly refer to someone with erratic behavior as acting "skitzo"? Or a hyper friend as "manic" or some acquaintance or coworker as bipolar if they seem to be different from day to day or interaction to interaction. I have been there, I've seen and observed in my adult life the way that the "unstable" people are judged...In passing, in gossip, as a joke, in a small group....the thing is...most people suffering from disorders keep very quiet. They might be standing right next to you, they might be the person you made the joke to, they might be undiagnosed and afraid and they will go further into their shell of feeling alone. So I'm not asking that we tip toe around and don't say funny and inappropriate stuff, but I think we need a kinder gentler world right now. I know I do, and I'm going to try my hardest to contribute to it.

Nicole

This post was going to be all about me, about the twists and turns that come after surviving a terminal diagnosis, but it just didn’t feel right at this ripple in time. Partly because I have scans coming up, partly for other reasons. Mostly because what I really want to do here is talk about someone who picked me up from a support group right after my diagnosis, and she made me hers, she was my shining star in so many ways. So this post is for Nicole.

 I have lost many, too many to count. That’s the double edged sword when you join cancer support groups, you will see so much strength, so much love, and you will lose so many. We lost Marco, we lost Olivia, we lost Cherie, we lost Kathy, we lost Kenny, and I still can’t wrap my tiny head around that. That will be another post. Many of them had more to live for, probably would have done much more with the extra time than I have. Survivors guilt is real, it lives in a giant concrete mixer of PTSD, fear, manic feelings, and a lot of other emotions I’m not even sure I’m ready to acknowledge let alone talk about.

But this is about Nicole. She was my first friend in the world of cancer. She reached out to me from an online support group I had joined when I was totally lost.  Nicole was one year ahead of me in her cancer crap (people like to call it a journey, or a fight, but it’s just crap, it sucks, let me get that out of the way).

I would give you the details of her diagnoses, but lets just say it was very similar to mine. When I met her, treatment was going so well! She was getting ready to marry the love of her life, when she so rudely took the reins and inserted herself in my life, what a dick that Nicole! Wherever she is she is laughing at this. She got married, she was a beauty to behold. She went to Italy. She was super sick from still being on chemo, but she rocked it out, for sure!

She had a rescue dog like me, his name is Mackey, she saw her godson born around the same time I saw mine born. She was so happy to have him. She never wanted kids, same as me,  but when the cancer spread and took that choice from her, it was crushing. A type of crushing not many people know.

I remember when she went on a beach vacation, said Fuck IT! Drank cocktails by the pool and told me “hey, I know we aren’t supposed drink, but terminal cancer, yup, pulling out that cancer card and having a great time.”

She knew it would be one of her last. I last heard from her in mid July, 2013. I was the incurable one, she was the curable one, but I went for surgery on August 26^th, I still hadn’t heard back from her. I entered an almost month long stay at the hospital. I thought about her often, but I knew even though things were looking bad, she would rock it out! That’s what she did. I had multiple surgeries there, sepsis, infections, a colostomy bag, lost a lot of weight but mostly in my boobs which I found very unfair. I couldn’t eat, or sleep or wash my hair without a nurses help. I thought I was dying, but really I had an asshole of a cancer trying to hang on.

Nicole died on September 19^th 2013. I got out of the hospital a few days later. I don’t believe in God, I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell, but I do believe in people. I came very close to dying in that hospital, by way of whatever, but I believe Nicole was there, in some way, even if it was only in my mind. To truly understand this wonderful soul, here are a few excerpts from our chats:

Early on: “Sorry it took me a while to get back (chemo was Tues) blahhh. I used to bartend as well, and loved my job! You will forget about your port before you know it! The damn thing becomes a part if you haha. 

 Anyway, I just dug up my first posting on the colon club if you would like to read it. I just read it again and it still seems so surreal. There were a few people my age that reached out to me early on in my journey that made a world of a difference for me. There is so much to talk about. I would love to be here to support you and answer any questions since I am a year into all this!”

Nicole saved me.

Later on…months later…

“I just had to say I read your blog you just posted on FB and it brought tears to my eyes, because of our similar thoughts. I was actually going to ask you in my last email if you ever felt like you knew deep down that this was coming because I felt that dark cloud off shore as well. Probably for the past three years. One day, I just could not picture myself at an older age anymore and it would freak me out. So then I would get these obsessive fears of dying young, like in a car crash or plane. Never thought cancer though. I would always feel like I was running out of time and would make comments to my coworkers about how work was taking up too much of my time. The list goes on....

One day my best friend asked me if I pictured myself with Jeff forever. I couldn't for some reason, Now I know, oh yeah it's because I'm going to die of cancer:( i even knew when i was diagnosed as a lucky stage 4, the kind that just have a little in the liver and its resectable, good chance fior a cure blah blah....that i was not going to be one of the lucky ones. i never shared this with anyone because i didnt want to hear it came back that i wasn’t positive enough. I was up all last night because of my fear of dying. It's not like that all the time but def prevalent last night.

Sorry for rambling, just had to tell you your blog helped me today:)”

This is what cancer does. It robs us of even our happy momments, because they always feel so fleeting, We hurt people around us because they don’t have that same darkness. The fear that every happy moment, even though we smile, we seem cool as shit, or whatever, well on the inside we are terrified. Nicole got that.

I almost feel like I’m betraying her by sharing her confidential thoughts, she was a private person, but I want to shed some light on the darkness, and I suppose some darkness on the light. Nicole had a gift for expressing her feelings, and in her life on this big planet, she shared them with few, but her words and thoughts, and our friendship is way too valuable to leave in the darkness of my own thoughts. She was smart, and beautiful, and so full of life, and she is missed by so many. I wish she could have met her niece, named after her. She just wanted more time. But like I said, cancer is a real dick, does’t care who you are, what you want, how you believe, it will fight for your body, and it’s a roll of the dice how it turns out. Nicole didn’t even know she was playing and she rolled low numbers, and for that, I will always hold a grudge.

The last message I got from her was this:

“I'm getting by I guess. I have two tumors near my belly button I can physically feel and an upcoming scan so I haven't been the best mentally this week:(

And I have this crazy pelvic type pain but today is a good day. So I go on like you said. I breakdown, I pick myself up, I still hang with friends and trying to plan a few trips:) I understand where Nadir is coming from, cancer is just so scary and unpredictable. I read your blog out loud to my friend who came over today so she can see what gives through my mind. We both cried halfway through, the dog part got me of course haha!!!”

That was the last I ever heard  from her. She ended it with a dog reference and a hahaha.

She also told me once “You aren’t supposed to take Percocet and drink, but fuck it, I’ve got terminal cancer and I’m doing it, and I feel great!”

She is the best and I miss her all the time.

Before. During. After.

I met a woman in the summer of 2012 who was everything I wanted to be. She had a security and sense of herself that was something I had always aspired to achieve. She had a confidence about her, but also a kindness and humility. She was light and airy, but grounded. She had this great job, living alone in Manhattan in a cute little East Village apartment, had a wonderful boyfriend who was fun and smart and talented. I remember that she fell in love with him for all of those reasons, but mostly for this intangible and magical charm that he had. They were in that honeymoon stage of a relationship, perfectly paired with hot summer nights, but it seemed like the kind of relationship that would stay forever like that. He played in a band, and all of their  friends were stylish and bright and easy and cool. They all vacationed together, they went to beaches, to bars, to parties. They stayed up all night sometimes having long conversations fueled by the intoxication of the warm summer air (and some other things). This woman had it all, she was 30 years old, and had the joy and peacefulness that I spent all of my twenties trying to achieve, battling against my anxieties and my insecurities. Trying to get to the bottom of my demons. Trying on different boys for size. Living with roommates, struggling to figure out what I wanted and where I fit. Trying to learn to be selfless without being resentful. Aching. Growing. Well this woman had done it, she had all of the pieces of her life comfortably and beautifully in place. It was something i would have envied enormously except that this woman was me.

I miss her. I'm angry that she was taken from me so quickly. It feels cruel.

My diagnoses came several months after that wonderful summer. The summer of 30. Summer was over and winter rushing in. It was a crushing diagnoses, as I have written about before and during when those feelings were fresh and shocking. When that carefree, perfect woman was starting to break down. Slowly my confidence and security faded. I tried to hold on to her, I continued working through chemo, I traveled, I wrote, I went to therapy, but I could feel myself changing. And when the surgeries started, I was gutted. Figuratively and literally. Coming home from the hospital after one surgery or another or another, Nadir would prop me up on the couch before he left for work, making sure I had everything around me I needed. He would kiss me good bye, the tears streaming down my cheeks. I would stare at the TV all day, envious of older couples in commercials for arthritis medication riding bicycles, envious because I felt that would never be us, growing old and riding bicycles, but also envious of anyone in commercials doing anything mundane and normal. Eating cereal, Waking up and drinking coffee. I wanted that and felt I would never have it. Nadir would come home and find me right where he left me and lean down and kiss me again over the tears, still streaming. The next day would be the same, and the next. That couch became a prison, the same couch we had stayed up on talking until the wee hours during those long summer nights. The very same couch I paid cash for, brand new. It was the first new piece of nice furniture I had ever purchased, thus passing a milestone into adulthood. But that didn't matter anymore, there were no more warm breezes wafting in, no more parties and rock shows for me. I told him one day that if it got to hospice, I didn't want hospice at home. I wanted to be in a hospital or facility because I didn't want him to have to live in the apartment that I died in, not for one day. I couldn't stand the thought of that. His eyes were different, not as sparkly anymore. There was a heaviness and a burden he was shouldering, how could there not be? I think anyone who goes through this feels that, the charm and the lightheartedness changes into something much more dark for anyone in our position, but that being said, it doesn't make it any less heartbreaking to watch it change in the eyes of the person you love.

Well I didn't die on that couch, or in hospice (yet). I did get better. The surgeries stopped,  I put weight back on and winter gave way to longer days and the sounds of spring, and I was excited. I was ready. I looked for that amazing woman from two years ago. I thought she would be right there waiting for me, but she just wasn't. So I tried: I put her clothes on, her makeup on, I went back to work at her job, I went to the rock shows and the bars she used to go to, hung out with her friends, but to no avail. I was an impostor now...stepping into a custom made suit that was made for someone else. No alterations could fix that. It's awkward and uncomfortable wearing someone else's suit like that, I'm not fooling anyone. I am not her, I will never be her. She is gone, lost forever. That relationship is gone too, robbed of it's youth and vitality. I am not who I was then, I am not who I was in treatment, I am something different. It's almost as if I was unearthed from the grave but did not come back "right."

Do I know that these things are to be expected? Yes. Do I need people telling me "you may be different but you're so much stronger now, your relationship is so much stronger after that." No I do not. It is possible, it is still changing and growing, it is easy to think that we have been through the worst and come out all the better but it is also possible to keep chipping and hammering away at things until there is nothing left. Whatever doesn't kill you does not necessarily make you stronger. "Out of the ashes, the phoenix will rise" is from Greek mythology. While sayings and beliefs like this help some, they do not help me because I don't find them to be true. Whoever this new person becomes, she will not be like the one from years back. She will live with constant fear of the cancer coming back. She is a slave to her doctors appointments and blood work and scans. She has no evidence of disease but that does not mean that it's not in there, microscopic and slowly replicating again, ready to jump out and take everything away. I am broken, and in order to rebuild, and to heal, to find what next version of myself will be, I need to acknowledge what is lost that will never be found.

So what has Rhea been up to since summer?

Well this blog entry is long overdue. As you can see I'm not too good at blogging at regular intervals. Sorry to disappoint my readers. I hope the three of you have been able to keep busy and entertained in other ways.
 I really meant to write after my first surgery, then after my second, then at the one year anniversary of my diagnoses, but to be really honest, I was too busy watching crap television, taking/weaning myself off of/taking again narcotic pain medication, oh, and feeling sorry for myself. There was a lot of feeling sorry for myself. Which I'm not sorry about. I have every right to feel bad for me, you should feel bad for me too. I have had five organs, part of my colon, and half of my liver removed. I spent almost a month straight in the hospital. I did something I never thought I would do, watch the seasons change from a hospital bed. My "plumbing" has been, er...temporarily rerouted and I now get to join millions of grandmothers and grandfathers (and some young folk like me) around the world with a poop bag attached to my side. I dropped to a scary 97lbs, struggled to shower, cook, eat, and when the nausea bouts hit, struggled to watch tv, hell I even struggled to struggle. Just being alive was very very hard. The depression, the feelings I had, well they were feelings that I truly hope none I love ever have to experience.
  But throughout that, I learned what I was made of, and what my friends and family are made of too. Some of what I learned was surprising, in good and bad ways, about myself and about others. A battle like this, and it is a battle, can truly bring out the best in people, and when all is said and done, I think I've learned that those who have fought with me through this are the kind of people you don't have to clean your house for when they visit! These are the people that understand that I can be an asshole now. That I don't have the patience or energy right now that I used to, and that, hopefully, it's only temporary, because over the past months, all of my energy is for me, to fix me. They are the people who stayed after the initial fanfare and rallying of support in the beginning, who reach out even if I don't reach back, who know that I still love them and want to be there for them, but there are often days where I can't hear about their mundane, self-inflicted problems. For each of you, I am so thankful. I promise I will be less of an asshole this year. Well I take that back, lets get me through this last surgery in a couple of weeks, fix my plumbing and get rid of my ostomy. Oh and keep me cancer free, that's a big one, cause if the cancer comes back I'm going back into selfish dick mode for awhile. And I won't feel bad about it then either.
 So lets end on a good note though. I am currently NED (which means no evidence of disease, aka, free of visible cancer, we don't call it remission anymore, that's misleading). I go in for my last surgery in a couple of weeks and I'm really looking forward to the delicious green jello, fashionable gown with built in air conditioning, and the never ending dialouge with about 15 people about my bowel movements. Oy, lets hope it's a short stay and a cancer free 2014! Happy New Year everyone!

Me and My Arrow

Well hello. Been awhile. Though I have been writing many of these blog posts in my head, they often seem too scattered to be even remotely organized on paper. And a bit too dark and depressing. I sometimes struggle to even get through full thoughts in my head without breaking into tears, and the ones that I get out, verbally, to those I am closest to, they too come with tears and sobs.

See, over the last few months I have been trying to accept that my time on this earth is not long. Not a single person with stage 4b inoperable colon cancer gets cured through systematic chemotherapy. The chemotherapy gives you time. Well, it gives me time. It gives you more time, with me, to hang out on the couch and watch bad tv. There. But that's it. And so I have lost the ability to think beyond my next couple of years, because it just is too painful to imagine a life you probably won't get to have. So I do okay, day to day. trip to trip, jumping out of planes, driving half way across the country with my dude and my dog, getting wasted on bourbon with my dad in Michigan, exploring big, cool empty buildings in vermont in the middle of the night. Watching "The Wire" on HBO. Watching Baseball. Watching fireflies, they never get old to me being from the west coast and all. And I do okay. I do.

But then something will get in there. Out of nowhere, unexpectedly, and I lose it, I become so filled with sadness and anger and fear. It's like nothing I would ever wish for any of you, my lovelies.

Most recently it was the song "Me and My Arrow" by Harry Nilsson. Skip this part if you don't want this song ruined for you. For those of you that don't know it, it's about a dude and his dog, and a girl leaving him but who the hell cares, cause he's got his dog...

"Me and my arrow
Taking the high road
Wherever we go, everyone knows
It's me and my arrow

And in the morning when I wake up
She may be gone, I don't know
And we make up just to break up
I'll carry on, oh yes I will"

This song came on and I looked at Nadir and Sylas (who are in love with each other!) and that line, "in the morning when I wake up, she may be gone, I don't know." It killed me, I thought of just going to the hospital one day, when the cancer gets worse, and that's the day I don't come out. And Nadir comes home, and I'm gone, and it's just him and his dog, head in hands, trying to pick up the fragmented pieces, completely alone. And I try to tell myself that he would be fine, but I think if the situation was reversed, I would not be fine. It's not possible. So I know he would be destroyed. Beyond any of the cancer, beyond any fears I have for myself, the largest one, for me, truly is leaving the people I love the most behind in pain, picking up the pieces, asking questions, asking why, unable to understand any of it. 

So that's been what's rolling around in my head lately. Maybe I shouldn't have gone off those anti-depressents after all...hmm...

UNTIL YESTERDAY...everything changed, well. I shouldn't be so dramatic, everything has the potential to change. My oncologist had an upbeat attitude when talking about my further treatment. He brought us into his office, which he rarely does. And I brought it up. Surgery. In the past he has shot me down. But he was open, and even said that given my young age, and that my cancer is sort of "out of the box" then yes, we should start thinking out of the box. I think that my response to treatment being better than anyone thought or expected has helped him change his tune. That and, well I have to believe a little bit, his getting to know me as a person and a patient. The fact that he has to write me medical release letters so I can go skydiving! Kind of like "okay this girl is a fighter" or more like "okay this girl is bananas so lets see how far we can take her." Either way, I feel he is in my corner, we are on the same page, and that is looking for a chance at a cure now, not just a chance at some good years. 

He has referred me for surgical consult with Dr. Daniel Labow at Mt. Sinai for consult for possible liver resection and HIPEC surgery. He might say no, he might think it's to risky, or I'm not the right candidate, but, he might say yes. If you are really interested, google HIPEC...it's a pretty wild surgery! I feel hope, hopeful at an actual life, a future, I guess I would say "kids" here if I wanted them, so instead I will say "more pit bulls." More skydiving! A future where I can listen to "Me and My Arrow again." 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U1n9QTkrkP0

It's party time!

In the process of packing up my old apartment and moving in to a new one, I have discovered that I have quite a large collection of party dresses. These are the types of dresses for getting dressed up in. You know, like for my birthday, weddings, nice fancy dinners, my birthday, the ballet, my birthday. Since one of these things only comes once a year, and I don't get around to many of the other things frequently enough, I have now decided to find a different more regular occasion to wear my party dresses. Chemo! Yes, I am now getting dressed up for chemo. It's perfect, I can wear strapless dresses for easy access to my port, and I'm basically sitting down all day so I don't have to worry about constantly fidgeting to keep said strapless dress in place.

If you think about it, these parties have a lot in common with my new chemo parties. My friends are often around, and everyone else in the room is putting large quantities of mind/body altering substances in their bodies, which generally produce headaches, some nausea, and tiredness the next day. Sounds just like the day after a wedding reception, or my birthday. Also, upon returning from all of these events, I am used to generally passing out face down, still in party dress, which also happens after chemo!

My doctor says I look great for just having my 5th treatment already, but I already knew that. I feel pretty good too. Chemo is designed to kill rapidly dividing cells, so that's why it goes for the cancer, but also gets your good rapidly dividing cells, thus the side effects. I have come to the conclusion that my side effects are minimal due to the heavy drinking and recreational drug experimentation I put myself through in my 20's. I've trained my healthy cells well, they know how to survive toxins.

So overall I'm doing well. I want to freeze time, right here, right like this. I know I can't go back, can't take away the cancer, I'm not being that naive or greedy. But can't I just stop time right now? Live life just like this. Stick with the chemo and not get worse. Keep the cancer I have now, and not have it grow. I'll even name my little tumors, as long as they don't grow. Maybe name them after villains from Disney Movies? Scar, Ursula, Jafar? Obviously Ursula, the lady villain, gets to be the name of my tumor on my ovary, only fitting. 

Because I'm happy right now, and tomorrow looks great, even this weekend and next week. But the further future is frightening as hell. I don't want to go there. I have learned to manage this, but I don't want anymore that this. 

Anyways, 6th chemo is in two weeks, that's the halfway point! Come by and visit if you wish, wear a party dress, or a suit gents. I'm looking into the chemo suite's byob policy.

Blogging before coffee...

...probably a bad idea. We'll see. Okay this isn't working. Coffee first.

Better. I've been thinking a lot about death lately. I know, weird right? Death sort of then makes me think about life, life now, past life, future. Something has clicked for me, and made it very hard for me to think into the future beyond about 6 months. I'm okay with that for the most part. I think summer will be wonderful! Who wants to go on vacation?

Before I start rambling, let me update you on the facts of how I am doing, assuming that's probably the main reason you guys read this. So I'll do that before I continue on the "dear diary" theme. They added a new drug to my 3 chemotherapy agents. It's called Avastin. For those of you keeping track, I am now on xeloda, irinotecan, oxaliplatin, and avastin. Not sure if I'm spelling those right. I can't be bothered to look it up, the search button on my laptop is just way too far away. I'm doing okay, and finally got through a weekend with no nausea. Yay. Also, we got some good news from the doctor last week, a bloodtest showed that my CEA has dropped a lot. From a 40.5 at the start of treatment to a 9.5! What is CEA you ask? Let us let my friend Wikipedia explain:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carcinoembryonic_antigen

So I should really be packing right now. Moving this week to a big, wonderful new apartment with my boyfriend. I'm really looking forward to having some more space to stretch out in. And...we have a dishwasher. I plan to use as many dishes as possible in order to get the full use out of it. I'm taking this to the extreme. I'm talking different forks for different foods on the same plate. Anyways, so this new apartment is (obviously) more expensive than already overpriced closet I currently reside in. It's still "affordable." I think. But I get this nagging feeling...this nagging worry in the back of my head. At night when I go to sleep. Sometimes when I wake up. Or when I miss a shift at work. Or when I feel sick. It's this stress that I am going to die and leave my boyfriend stuck in a lease with an apartment he can't afford on his own. Is that sad? Or just funny? That's what Manhattan living has done to me! Perhaps I should have asked for the "girlfriend has terminal cancer opt-out clause" in the lease when we signed it.

I think my morbid thoughts can actually be attributed to the percocet withdrawal I am currently going through. We will hopefully all laugh some day, years from now, while sipping Arnold Palmer's on a wrap-around porch, somewhere green and beautiful. One of you will make some comment about your arthritis pills not working well enough as you reach for the pitcher and refill my glass. Then I will say "what you need are some good opiates. What's wrong with that quack of a doctor of yours?" And then a memory will pop into your head, from a time long passed and far removed from us now, and you will look at me and say: "Hey Reetz...remember that winter when you had cancer and developed a mild pain pill addiction?" And we well all have a good laugh.