A ten point update

I’m learning how to have cancer

One: Thank you for your incredible response to The isolation of illness. I have been honing my writing skills since I was a girl and yearning to share my voice with as many people as I can. At the time of this writing, the The isolation of illness boasts 15.1k views and 676 recommends. The most remarkable aspect of this — as a former social media manager — is that the vast majority of the piece’s referrers are direct shares, which means that you are giving the piece to specific people with specific intention. The meaning of that is not lost on me, and I am humbled by it. Thank you for helping me achieve a small part of my lifelong dream.

Two: As you can imagine, however, such a response is a little intimidating, and now that people are following me on this journey, I want to deliver a followup worthy of your continued interest. It’s in the works, but I figured you’d appreciate an update like this as well.

Three: I’m still here. March 31st, 2016 was my fifth Taxol infusion. I have twelve once a week Taxol infusions total, followed by four treatments of AC once every other week. So far I have tolerated the medication well, with the worst side effect being constipation and profound fatigue. And yes, I still have my goddamn hair.

Four: I have been prescribed an SNRI called venlafaxine — more commonly known as Effexor. It has made me functional, but emotionally flat. I am worried it will stifle my creativity.

Five: Fatigue is real. And no, getting enough rest doesn’t cure it.

Six: There is a learning curve to having an illness like cancer, especially when it consumes such a large part of your life. Every person needs different kinds of care, and as someone who is deeply introverted and finds intimacy and trust fraught, I needed to figure out what my kind of care looks like. I need a lot of quiet contemplation and solitude, but I also need to know I am still in people’s thoughts. I am easily over stimulated and agitated. For me, care looks like mindful distance and blowing kisses from my computer keyboard into cyberspace. It looks like a routine and everything in its right place. It looks like text messages that say nothing more than “I love you,” expecting nothing in response.

Seven: Some days you just need to get very very stoned and eat anything and everything you want.

Eight: It is not about learning who your “true friends” are, rather it is about learning which friends can provide what support at this specific time in our lives. Which is not to say that I have not felt abandoned, nor is it to invalidate that feeling, but acceptance without expectation, and gratitude for what is unexpected have been easier virtues to live by.

Nine: Going for a run almost always solves all my problems.

Ten: Sometimes it is okay if you can’t articulate what kind of help you need. Sometimes the wisdom is in knowing just how to accept help. Like when it’s Saturday afternoon and you say that you are feeling dissociated and just plain off, but you’re not sure what will help until a friend invites you to be a voyeur at a party at The Armory, and suddenly putting on a sexy dress and mask is — at least for an evening — the only cure for cancer.