Month: March 2015

I never thought I would be a blogger 

Dearest Liver,

When I was first diagnosed with cancer in 2005 everyone told me that I should make a blog. I was in a much different head space the first time around and didn’t see how it would help me. Then I was diagnosed with metastatic cancer 2 years ago and everything changed. I was struggling with a way to cope and decided to give this a try. It seemed like a good way to vent my thoughts and spare my family and friends from having to talk about my cancer all of the time. Read more

No more chemo for a bit!

Dearest Liver,

My latest scan showed that you are still responding to the chemo and shrinking, so after a few tears, a few meltdown emails, and some begging on my part Dr. Rugo gave me a bit of a break. My dad called it a “drug holiday” at first, which I have to admit sounds way more fun than just NOT taking drugs, but it was nice to let my body recover for a bit.

Now I have been switched over to a hormone therapy drug that consists of two HUGE shots in the butt. The shots are supposed to be monthly, but I have to get them every 2 weeks for the first 3 injections. Then they start being once a month. Tomorrow is my second shot, so I’ve made it through the first 2 weeks pretty much major side effect free. Read more

The woes of chronic illness

Dearest Liver,

Chronic illness is the thing that I struggle with the most in my current situation. It’s the thing that makes me feel alone and sad and tends to trigger most of my recent meltdowns. It’s also something no one will ever fully understand unless they have the misfortune of having it, so I thought I could try and explain it to you.

When I was first diagnosed with metastatic cancer, I felt lucky to have such an amazing support system of family and friends. It was really hard to process the idea of having incurable cancer. I was just about to turn 30 and the thought of being “that cancer girl” for the rest of my life horrified me. My friends made jokes with me and told me that I was stupid for thinking that no one would ever love me or want to be with me because I have cancer. They were a shoulder to cry on and would take me out drinking and dancing whenever I needed a break from reality. Read more