What Cancer Has Given Me

As my final chemo treatment approaches, I feel such a mixture of emotions.  I'm anxious about how I will feel about ending treatment, going back to work, not seeing my mom every couple of weeks, no more bird sock pictures (although I think we could make it a monthly or annual thing), and about facing my fears regarding length of remission and prognosis.    But my anxiety is coupled with overwhelming gratitude, joy, excitement, and peace about my life as it is right now.  In hard moments over the last couple of months, I've thought a lot about what cancer has taken from me.  It's taken away my freedom to think about having children without thinking about my life expectancy.   It's taken away finances I could've spent on travel or people.  It's taken away my ability to fill out health questionnaires in a carefree manner, since I now have to check the cancer box at every dentist, massage, or doctor's appointment.  It's put constraints on how Janelle and I can plan for the future.  It's made me fear ever moving further than 20 miles away from Dana-Farber.  Cancer has given me nightmares, baldness, self-righteous thoughts, fears, and complaints.  It's made me rethink my habits, career, and diet.  I could go on.  But instead, every time I think about what cancer has taken from me, I'm reminded of all it has given me.

Cancer has allowed to spend weeks upon weeks with my amazing mother, which has been such a blessing.  It's connected me to my sister and brother in wonderful ways.  It's given me the chance to see the amazing community Janelle and I have in our lives.  It's given me the opportunity to connect with old friends from grade school, high school, and college, as well as, new friends from work and grad school.  I've heard from old neighbors, family friends, colleagues, and perfect strangers.  It's given me amazing socks, that are brightly colored and keep my feet warm.  Cancer has reminded me of each and every blessing in my life.  It's inspired me to learn more, give more, and share more about cancer, the environmental factors that contribute to it, bone/blood/organ donation, and cancer research.  It's connected me to other cancer patients and survivors.  It's made me feel so alone but also reminded me that I'm never alone in this world.  Cancer has reminded me why I love and need to teach.  It has changed my perspective on life in a pretty radical way.  Things that used to stress me out just matter less now.  I'm grateful for my new lens with which I experience the world.  The world I live in now has very dark blacks and very bright lights.  It's different than my old world, but that's ok.

To be clear, my cancer diagnosis has not been a blessing and never will be in my mind.  It still completely sucks.  However, I can't change my diagnosis.  I can only change my attitude and perspective.  My new lens is my blessing.  In some ways, cancer helped me find and create this new lens but I won't give it full credit.  Cancer could've easily ruined me.  I had to make decisions about how to navigate this new world all by myself.  I'm pretty proud of where I've ended up.

I don't want tomorrow to come.  I hate treatment days.  But it's my last treatment day for the foreseeable future.  That makes me joyous and anxious.  I know I'll figure out how to manage life after chemo and I'm also sure that I will have some hard moments.  I'm just glad that I've made it this far.  I couldn't have done this without my family and friends.  Some days they carried me, even when they didn't know it. I know I will never fully be able to express my gratitude to everyone.  Thank you all.  This is a new beginning.  I've had lots of those lately.  I'm finally starting to embrace beginnings and see them for what they are worth, instead of running away from them.  I'm lucky to start this new beginning with a whole flock of amazing people.

What's Up With The Bird Socks?

I've gotten a lot of questions lately about how the "bird-sock-wearing-on-treatment-days" came to be.  It all started with my aunts, my mom's two sisters, who live on the West Coast.  My aunts found the "Birds on a Wire" socks and sent them to me to wear on my first treatment day on September 14th.  They also bought pairs of socks and wore them on my first treatment day, along with my uncles.

It was a way for us all to be connected, even though there is great distance between us.  Then, Janelle and the rest of my immediate and extended family got pairs of socks to support me.  After my second round, Janelle shared the story of the bird socks on my caring bridge site and prompted people to buy them to help us all feel connected on my treatment days.  We had no idea that so many people would purchase and wear the socks on my treatment days.  One of my favorite parts about this amazing phenomenon is that the socks have birds on them.  If you know my extended family, you know that we range from casual birders to very-serious--award-winning-birders.  Birds have always connected us.  Now bird socks are connecting us.

On treatment days, I get pictures from my family, my mom's friends, my dad's coworkers, my cousin's roommates, my old friends from high school, colleagues, my brother's work friends, Janelle's extended family, my family friends, Janelle's friends from Thailand, and even my principal.  We were not expecting this.  However, the bird socks anchor me on my treatment days.  The constant flood of texts, emails, Facebook and CaringBridge posts of sock pictures help get me through the day.  Even when people don't send pictures, just knowing people are wearing the socks brings a smile to my face.   How magical is that!  People are wearing bird socks to remind me that I am not alone.  That I am not going through this by myself.  I have people.  And they've got me.  Even people that don't have bird socks send me pictures of their socks, which I love just as much.

If anyone feels moved to buy the bird socks, you can buy them here:
Birds on a Wire Socks

Or if you're local, you can get them at On Centre in JP or Brookline Booksmith.

I'm dreading Monday but know the sock pictures will get me through the day!  Also, the date of my last treatment was changed to December 29th, so that Nurse Jackie can be my chemo nurse.  She's been my chemo nurse for every treatment so far.  She brings us comfort and a familiar face.  She won't be with us this coming Monday(because she has the day off, which is totally allowed), but that's the only one we'll have without her.

Love and bird socks.  

Taking a Step Back to Look Forward

My 4th round has been a challenge  It has tested me physically and emotionally.  It has tested my spirit and my ability to hope. However, I'm starting to feel better and find a new daily rhythm.  My days now involve more napping and more water drinking. Recently,  I've been dealing with a racing heart and some shooting pains in different parts of my body.  Here's to hoping that neuropathy stays away and my shingles is not making a reappearance.

Today I had to go into the hospital to get fluids and an EKG.  My elevated heart rate was most likely due to dehydration and anxiety.  I was able to meet with my doctor and talk over the plans for my last two rounds of chemotherapy.  This round has made me question whether going through two more rounds is possible, smart, or necessary.  After spending an hour talking it over with my doctor and Janelle today, I know it is the right way forward. I really wanted to quit.  Some days this just feels too hard and too unfair.  However, I want the longest remission that I can get and unfortunately six rounds of RCHOP is the way to do that right now.  Even though my body is struggling and my resolve is waning, I can do hard things.  I can do this.  We have a better plan for the next round.  I'm going to get preemptive fluids before my blood counts drop and my sister is going to come and spend the 2nd week with us.  With this plan in place, round 5 feels doable.  I can handle doable.

Also, it's the season of gratitude.  And I have serious amounts of gratitude right now.  Every day, I'm blown away by the love, support, encouragement, and hope that surrounds me.  My grateful heart carries me on the hardest of days.  This cancer thing wasn't part of the our plan but Janelle has been my "block" through it all.  Today, while getting my blood drawn and IV put in, Janelle entertained me with videos and pictures of my favorite babies and storm cat.  She does this every single time.  She takes her place at my side, holds my hand, and reminds me of all of the joy in my life.  My serious phobia of needles and tendency to faint make this cancer thing a bit more challenging. But Janelle and I have a system that gets me through my blood draws and IV placements. Could I be any more blessed?!

Last week I felt my family's distance but I also felt the strength of my community.  On Tuesday alone, three of my closest friends visited and kept me company so that Janelle could go into work and stay for her late day.  Life is pretty amazing sometimes.  So ya, cancer sucks but it's going to be ok.  I've got my people.  Or more like my people have got me.  And for that, I can't even express how grateful I am.  Gratitude changes everything.

Oh ya, that family I'm marrying into someday soon...they are my people too.  On Thanksgiving day, they all surprised me by wearing their bird socks to dinner.  I fell asleep and woke up surrounded by everyone in bird socks.  Life really doesn't get any better than that.

Anna's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Days

Yep.  It's been a really rough 48 hours here.  

oral thrush + throat inflammation + low blood counts + extreme weakness + nausea + fatigue + can't stand up for more than 2 minutes without feeling faint = terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad days 

sunshine + Janelle love + storm cat snuggles + emails of hope + Reiki + funny pictures/videos + friend chats on the bed+ phone calls from home = hope that the sunflower moments will crush the cancer ones

Over the last two days, I've felt hopeless.  Or at least I thought I did.  I've never felt more weak or sick in my life.  Yesterday, I emailed a friend to get some hope and support.  She reminded me that the simple act of reaching out and asking for help is an act of hope. Hopeless people give up.  Hopeful people ask for help.  So, Janelle and I have done some asking over the last 48 hours. We've asked for Tylenol and cottage cheese deliveries, for stories to distract us, for classroom coverage, for support during the day, and for reminders that our community is here with us on this, what feels today, like a very brutal journey.   

My oncologist was not incredibly surprised by my sudden weakness and fatigue, which is hard and at the same time also reassuring.  It means that this is common.  This is what chemo does to people.  But it also means that THIS IS COMMON.  People go through this pain all the time.  If I'm still feeling this weak and fatigued tomorrow, I will go into Dana-Farber to meet with my doctor and get IV fluids.  We've been attempting to avoid this since my blood counts are still low, traveling anywhere is exhausting for me, and trips to Dana-Farber outside of my chemo days always set me back a bit emotionally.  

When I say I've been feeling really weak and fatigued, I mean that Janelle has needed to make all of my meals for me, help me shower, watch me walk to and from the bathroom, and so on.  Today was the first day I felt well enough to SIT in the shower and get clean with Janelle's support.  It's a terrible, horrible feeling to feel this helpless and reliant on someone else.  My mom flew back on Friday and isn't with us this week because Thanksgiving makes traveling so complicated.  Therefore, Janelle had to stay home from work today to take care of me.  We've really been trying to avoid her missing any more work but we didn't really have many other options.  Over the last two days, we've felt the weight of our families' distance heavily.  Asking big favors of friends is much harder than asking family.  I am very proud of Janelle though, for reaching out to our community and asking for support. It's not easy.  

Rounds 5 and 6 seem like impossible feats right now. I don't want to go through with them.  I want to ask my doctor to make it all stop.  There have been very brief sunflower moments lately that have given me just a tiny bit of peace with my treatment plan.  Just a tiny bit.  I'm hoping that once I feel better my peace will grow and it won't feel like the future is entirely dark.

Some sunflower moments: 

Storm cat is one of the brightest sunflowers in our lives.  Thank goodness we have him to remind us to have hope that tomorrow will be better. 
  
And sunshine. And reiki. 

The Joy of Waterfalls - Sunflowers Moments Galore!

Amazing Sunflower Update- Janelle and I are engaged!!!!

Janelle and I met over three years ago at an "intern" meeting at Bridge Boston Charter School.  As new interns, we met at school on a Sunday afternoon to get to know one another and the program a bit more.  Then the principal took us all out to dinner afterwards.  Initially, I found Janelle intriguing.  She found me obnoxious- her words, not mine (and I do admit that I am a bit much to handle at first, with all my canary sensitivities).  Both of us had just gotten back from living in Southeast Asia and were adjusting to the culture shock of being back in the States.  As we navigated a new city, school, colleagues, and students, Janelle and I starting exploring Boston together and leaning on each other.  

I'm not going to tell our whole love story here, as we tell a much better version in person and even contradict each other in many places.  But eventually, we did became friends that Fall and by the middle of Winter, our friendship had melded into something much more substantial and meaningful. That winter, I fell in love, which was unexpected.  And not only did I fall in love but I fell in love with a woman, which was even more unexpected (for me and everyone else in my life -except my mom, who somehow knew before I did).  And the best, most magical, incredible part of this story is that I fell in love with a woman who really saw me and loved me deeply.  Janelle admired, validated, and honored the parts of me that I loved, kept hidden, terrified me, and made me come alive.  She continues to do these things to this day.      

This weekend, Janelle asked me to marry her at Moss Glen Waterfalls in Stowe, Vermont.  Stowe is a very magical place for us.  The nature there has captured our hearts in a powerful way.  Neither of us can really remember exactly how the proposal went down because our emotions seem to have clouded that moment in time.  However, she definitely asked me to marry her with the waterfall rushing loudly behind us.  And I definitely exclaimed "of course, yes" at least twice, while also asking her if she was kidding and kneeling down on the snowy ground next to her.  At some point, we eventually found our way to standing and asked a family passing by to snap some pictures of us.  She got me a ring that makes me feel like I'm looking at the ocean every time I look down at my hand.  I couldn't really ask for anything better than the gift of the ocean in a ring.  As we walked back to the car from the waterfall, we listened to the water, held hands and looked around at the snow dusting on the moss and trees.  Life doesn't get much better than that.    

This past weekend, I rarely thought about cancer.  I just thought about sunflowers, nature, Janelle, family, and hope.  These are the weekends and moments I hope I remember from this time period in my life.  

Janelle and my journey together, our recent engagement, and our relationship has been filled with so many sunflower moments.  These moments fill me up and carry me when cancer or life challenges get me down.  Our engagement doesn't feel like the beginning of something, as so many people see their engagement; it feels like the continuation of a beautiful journey we've been on for three years together.  However, I can't wait to call Janelle my wife :) 
   

"Someday is made up of a tiny thousand nows." -Curly Girl

The Truth About Chemo

 Surprisingly, I've recently found that social media has really helped me feel less alone as I navigate the world as a cancer patient. I feel a little bit less alone just by writing and putting my thoughts out there.  People read my story and take in the pieces.  People are with me, present with me. 

Lately, I've been worried that my "life with cancer" looks too exciting or glamorous (not sure what word I'm looking for here), which I'm sure sounds like a strange fear to most people.  However, I DO tend to write about the good stuff, the joyous stuff, and the hopeful stuff most of the time.  The truth is that living with cancer  and going through chemotherapy is very hard most days but I do try to find the good stuff tucked away in each day.  My experience undergoing treatment has been exhausting, terrifying, painful, and brutal. I try not to focus on those parts but sometimes I need to honor, validate, and trust that those parts carry me and build me up in powerful ways, just as much as the good parts do.   

I just got off the phone with my oncologist.  I have oral thrush again, which shouldn't make me feel shameful, since it's quite common and not preventable, but it's annoying and I wish I could make it go away quicker.  It makes my mouth taste horrible and I have serious empathy for babies who get it often.  Lately, people have been asking me what it's like going through chemo. While I'm know it's different for everyone, I wanted to give people a glimpse at what it has been like for me. 

Day 1: Treatment day is usually the worst.  I go in feeling great and leave with extreme nausea, fatigue, and chemo brain.  Janelle and my mom help make the day go quickly with TV shows, conversation, photo collages, and napping but it's still a pretty crappy day with some good moments thrown in (like pictures and videos of baby friends). I take 100mg of prednisone from Days 1-5.  It's horrible.  I'm now able to swallow it by covering it in a thin layer of fruit roll-up.  However, it eats at my stomach and makes me feel all revved up.   

Chemo #4: the bird socks with my "cute and qualified" chemo nurse

Day 2: Janelle has to go back to work, which is very hard for both of us.  My mom and I usually head down to Westport, since being by the ocean brings me some relief from my symptoms and Janelle has her late day on Tuesdays anyway.  Emme, a dear friend, has a family home in Westport.  Her parents have generously opened their door to us whenever we need some ocean beauty.  I take two very expensive nausea meds for the first three days to help keep it in check, but sometimes I add in one or two more additional meds if the nausea is really bad.  My mom and I usually go on walks by the ocean, work on a puzzle, nap, and Facetime with my Dad and Janelle.  My face usually puffs up and I have something called "chemo flush", which makes my face and chest all red.  

Day 3 -5: Continue taking prednisone.  Maybe stay in Westport for another night. Dealing with insomnia, nausea, and joint pain. 

Day 6-10: My blood counts are low so I'm very prone to infections and I usually experience whole body fatigue and soreness.  Some of this is due to prednisone build-up, prednisone withdrawal, and then the rest is due to all my other chemo meds.  I call these days my "molasses days" because to walk it feels like I'm fighting through molasses.  It's exhausting to do most things but I usually try to plan one thing to look forward to on each of these days.  Then, I sleep most of the day until I do that one thing. 

Day 11 -21: Life feels more manageable now.  I start feeling better and there's a light at the end of the tunnel.  My blood counts start going up.  I can be out and about in the world without worrying too much about infections or side effects getting me down.  These are the days that Janelle and I go see live music, take trips, play with babies, have company over, make meals with friends, and enjoy all that nature has to offer.  Mind you, I'm sleeping around 10 hours a night and taking a 2-3 hour nap most of these days.  

I'm told by other cancer patients and repeatedly by my oncologist that my fatigue and energy level will continue to get worse with each cycle.  So far, I can already feel a difference between this 4th cycle and my last one. 

I know it's been somewhat strange for the people in my life to comprehend what going through chemo has been like for me. I don't like to dwell on it or talk about it tons.  When my colleagues and friends see me for brief visits or outings, I usually look pretty good.  And for the most part, I feel good when I'm with them.  I have good energy and truthfully look like I should/could be working or up and about more. Cancer treatment can be deceiving that way.  Every day looks and feels different.  Certain days I feel like my old, normal self (except I sleep a lot more). Other days, I feel so far from my old self that I'm not sure how I'd ever get back to her.  

Writing has become a refuge for me in a way I didn't expect.  While I feel very vulnerable putting my words out into the world, it's comforting to know that the people I love and care about read my precious words and take them to heart.  Thank you for listening to MY truth about chemo.  

The Unexpected Light

In weeks following my cancer diagnosis, driving was hard.  Not the physical act of driving, although my spatial awareness skills are generally quite lacking.  Driving was incredibly hard emotionally.  It was hard to stay distracted while driving because the radio plays the same music over and over and I couldn't focus on npr.  I tried to call people while driving but that wasn't always possible.  I dreaded driving because that's when all the scary thoughts about cancer, life expectancy, and prognosis would come up in my mind.  It was hard to push them away while driving.  Driving was excruciatingly hard until I started listening to "The Pasture", an amazing instrumental song by Elephant Revival, on repeat.  This one song made driving tolerable again.  This song also made going to sleep possible as Janelle and I would listen to it on repeat to help us fall asleep.   Music has such amazing powers. Transformative powers.  

Elephant Revival - "The Pasture" 

Music has been a light during this very dark time. I've felt the most like ME when at live music shows in the last couple months.  We've had the pleasure of seeing Catie Curtis, Crystal Bowersox, and Elephant Revival in the last two months.  I want to thank these musicians for being my stars during this dark sky period of life but I feel like I'm at a loss for words.  How can I express how they've made my life brighter (a notion I didn't even think was possible at first)?     

In addition to music, I'm finding that my people, in their acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, and expressions of love, have transformed this time for me.  This time that I thought would be filled with dread, hopelessness, and despair is filled with laughter, happy tears, smiles, joy, and deep gratitude.  I don't have the words to express how thankful I am for the light and brightness people have brought me.  How do I tell Elephant Revival how much their song meant to me in September and still now?  How do I tell Momastery that her blog renews my hope in humanity daily?  How do I tell Janelle that her amazing love wraps me up, keeps me safe, and never lets me down? How do I tell my Mom and Dad that their love and support keeps me strong? How do I tell Tara that her book on her cancer journey probably changed mine?  How do I tell my friends that their voicemails, cards, texts, and emails literally make my days more tolerable and even joyous?  How do I tell Di that her cards always come at the right time?  How do I tell my babysitting moms that the pictures of their kiddos bring smiles to my face, which I didn't think was possible?  How do I tell my principal that her bird sock picture brought tears to my eyes?   How do I convey to my students that their smiles and cards brighten even the darkest of days?  How do I tell my school community that their ongoing support reminds me of the second home I have there?  The cards, texts, pictures, thoughts, gifts, quotes, and prayers I get truly bring joy to my heart- joy I didn't even know was possible after a cancer diagnosis.  I haven't figured out how to express my gratitude to these people and groups.  Words don't feel adequate. 

These days, driving is no longer as hard.  Neither is sleeping.  My initial panic and fear that consumed me have subsided into more manageable forms of anxiety and sadness.  I'm still struggling to understand what it means to have a "treatable but not curable" cancer. A study just came out in October on the overall survival time for young adults with follicular lymphoma.  They found that the median survival time was 24 years.  I can't decide if this gives me hope or forces me to see numbers that are feel unfair.  I'm aiming for 49 years.  I plan to live until I'm at least 76 (or 93 for Janelle).  I've asked my oncologist if this hoping is unrealistic.  She says that it isn't- that we don't know what medicine will be available to me in five, ten, or fifteen years.  Hopefully science will catch up.  Maybe in ten years I will have a cancer that is curable.  Who knows.  Anything is possible.  Some days this hope for medical progress turns me into a frantic person who wants to dedicate every breathing minute to raising thousands of dollars for lymphoma research (since my life/longevity kind of depends on it).  But usually I remember how important living is.  I still think I want to raise serious amounts of money for lymphoma research in the near future but with a reasonable goal and less desperateness. 

Recently, at a YAP (young adult program) event at Dana-Farber I connected with a young mother who beat breast cancer a couple of years ago.  Her name is Tara Shuman.  She blogged throughout her entire journey with cancer and eventually turned that blog into an amazing book.  Last week, I bought her book on Amazon and devoured it in two days.  Tara's words have given me so much comfort this past week and continue to make me feel less alone on this journey.  Her words have helped me process what I'm feeling.  If you want to know more about what I'm feeling, head over to Tara's blog or buy her book.  She really highlights the emotional rollercoaster, the thoughtful processing, and the amazing rallying of people that comes with a cancer diagnosis.  Also, if you want to know how Janelle and my meeting with the fertility specialist went, I'm not ready to talk about it but I think Tara may have met with the same apathetic doctor.  She does a great job of summing up the horrible experience. 

 Tara's Book - Hope Is a Good Breakfast

Tara's Blog - Tara Beats Cancer

Also, Storm cat is amazing. Yes, we are crazy cat ladies.   

Some helpful articles and resources on living with a chronic cancer:

Amazing empathy cards for those with chronic illnesses

What it means to live with a chronic cancer - The New Cancer Survivors

Living with Cancer, Chronic Not Cured

A Canary in a Coal Mine

Some days I wake up so mad with thoughts of  "Why me?!  What have I done to deserve this?"  Sometimes I get self-righteous.  I don't drink or smoke, or even drink soda or caffeine!  I've never done drugs or broken the law.  I'm a good person.  I teach special education to urban students.  Give cancer to someone who deserves it.  


But then my rage slowly disappears and I remember that no one deserves this.  Not even people that make choices I wouldn't make for myself, my body, or my family.  No one deserves to have an intruder in their body.  No one.  So, I stop the "why me?" questioning and I go back to being grateful for the life I have lived and still get to live every day.  The brutal parts of life often don't have reasons or answers.  They are just simply unfair.  
I didn't used to be proud of this and some days it is still hard to embrace.  But I am.  I've always been sensitive, in my emotions, thinking, body, and experiences.  I'm more sensitive to the sun, fluctuating temperatures, criticism, textures, contagious emotions, chemicals, medicines and so on.  Since I was a child, things, people, and experiences have affected me more than the average person.  I have high highs and low lows.  Depression and anxiety have been active elements in my life but so have exploding gratitude and unfounded joy.  It's taken me many years to own this part of my identity but I think I can finally say it without sadness, embarrassment, or regret.  I'm a highly sensitive person.  Therefore, it kinda makes sense that I got cancer.  If I have an overly sensitive body, toxins in my environment would affect me more than others.  Chemicals like chlorine and bleach have always given me headaches and rashes.  I get sun burnt after fifteen minutes in the sun.  I had chronic headaches during my first two years of teaching from who knows what - the lights, loud children, mildew? 

I'm a canary in the coal mine of life.  This is the definition of a canary in a coal mine from wiktionary: something/someone whose sensitivity to adverse conditions makes it a useful early indicator of such conditions; something which warns of the coming of greater danger or trouble by a deterioration in its health or welfare.  I've always been the canary.  My principal has even used this metaphor to describe my strengths AND my weaknesses as an employee.  I'm detail-oriented.  I'm very type A and get overly invested and emotional about basically everything.   I notice small problems but can also see the big picture clearly.  Luckily, there are some useful skills that come along with being highly sensitive.  I'm a true canary.  My sensitivity is important.

My cancer feels like a warning to the world that things aren't right.  There is too much pollution, contamination, chemicals, and toxins in our world.  I'm sure everyone feels this way when they get cancer.  But I think it's true.  The canaries in our world are sick.  And we are not listening.  There is so much we need to and can do to clean up our world.  So many people have started this work- like my grandmother who brings a plastic bag with her everywhere to pick up the garbage she sees.  But there is so much more to be done.  

In some small way though, I think I know why I got cancer.  The research tells me that all the toxins in my environment, in addition to my lifestyle and genes are the reasons that I got cancer.  But I think it's more than that.  I'm a highly sensitive person (a canary in a coal mine).  

Side note: I also lived in Malaysia, breathing in burning garbage for ten months.  Honestly, I'd love to blame this horrible cancer on Malaysia's lack of clean air; however, I think it was more than just my time in Malaysia.  My sensitivities were with me long before Malaysia and have stayed with me since.  Yes, do I think my time in Malaysia increased my chances of getting cancer or that my lymphoma started growing there?  Possibly.  But it hasn't done me much good to regret that time or those experiences.  

We're letting the canaries die in the coal mines without changing the conditions.  Yes, I am finally proud to be a canary but I'm not going down without a fight.  

Sunflowers

At the beginning of this school year, everything was uncertain.  I was waiting on biopsy results and the waiting was painful.  As a special education teacher, I have more flexibility during the first week of school as I don't usually start pulling groups until my students have a chance to adjust to their new classrooms, teachers, and peers. Therefore, I can help out when crazy-first-week-of-school-stuff happens. During the first week of school, buses don't run very well.  Many students are without bus routes.  Buses are late.  Students are left off of bus rosters.  You get the point.  So, one of my "jobs" during the first week of school was to pick up a 3rd grade student every morning with another teacher.  His family had just moved out of a shelter and he wasn't assigned a bus yet.  Little did I know that these morning interactions would end up inspiring me during this crazy experience with cancer.

Every morning that week, my colleague and I would drive out to pick up our 3rd grade friend.  On our route to his apartment, there were SO MANY SUNFLOWERS in yards, along the road, and in gardens.  In the middle of Dorchester.  Sunflowers in Dorchester.  It was magical.  So every morning, we would mention how cool it was to see the sunflowers to our student.  At first, he seemed uninterested in our excitement about sunflowers.  Then, on Wednesday during the first week of school, I was diagnosed with cancer.  My colleague picked up our 3rd grade friend by herself the rest of the week.

The next week, my colleague gave me a sunflower plant for my home.  It was lovely.  It reminded me of the joy we felt during the first week of school when sunflowers in Dorchester were magical.  Our 3rd grade student wanted the sunflower to be from him also.  This made me smile.

As my last day at school approached, many students drew me cards and wished me well.  My 3rd grade friend made me a beautiful book of drawings and this was the first page.  Those are sunflowers.  And they are for me.  Does life get any better?

So, I'm calling this blog sunflowers and cancer. The sunflowers are those magical moments in life when you remember how amazing life is.  And the cancer parts - well, those suck.  

Here's to more sunflower moments than cancer parts in the near future. 

My reality

Some days my reality feels overwhelming.  Other days, I feel just like the "old" Anna.  Pre-cancer Anna.  Most of the time, I feel somewhere in-between the old and new - scared, grateful, joyous, and sad. The only real difference between the old and new me is what occupies my mind and body. Cancer has taken up residence in my thoughts and my blood.

I'm 27 and I have cancer.  More specifically, I have follicular lymphoma, a non-hodgkin's lymphoma, that usually affects people in their 60s.  Some days I can laugh about the fact that I'm an old soul and got a cancer usually found in older people.  The fact that my cancer is a chronic cancer has been the hardest piece of this reality to accept.  This means that the cancer will always reside in my body.  Forever.  I will actively fight it at times.  The rest of the time, I will hopefully be enjoying remissions.

Hardest parts so far:
1. Telling my students that I have cancer
2. Telling my family and friends that I have cancer
3. Shaving off my beautiful curls
4. Missing my students, working, problem-solving, and being part of a school community daily
5. The side effects of chemo


The blessings:
1. Getting cards, letters, pictures, texts, and messages from my students
2. Opening my phone and mailbox daily to find packages, cards, flowers, messages, voice mails, emails, and pictures
3. Getting to spend quality time with my mom
4. Dancing in the kitchen with Janelle
5. Candlelight dinners with Janelle and my mom every night
6. Walks to Fornax Bakery
7. Snuggling with my baby friends
8. Shaving my head with my mom, sister, Alicia and Janelle (via Facetime) by my side
9. Enjoying the daytime sun
10. Learning that my community is bigger than I ever imagined
11. Remembering why I love teaching and why I can't live without it
12. Getting my taste back and enjoying amazing food
13. Picking out beautiful head scarves and turbans to wear
14. Knowing that Bridge Boston is and will still be my second home and will welcome me back when my treatment is all over
15. Re-igniting and embracing friendships old and new
16. Finding magic and joy in each day (some days it's the growing vegetables in our garden, or the snuggle of a little one, or the crispness of the air, or the smell of dinner, or the hug of a friend and so on).  There is SO much magic and joy, even with cancer.

There is SO much to be grateful for, even when cancer occupies my mind and body every day.