Okay, guys, I am sorry I SUCK SO BAD. I’ve been M.I.A. with the blog and I realize I have left you without the ending (spoiler alert: there isn’t a real end, per-say, when you’re dealing with cancer; that’s something I have learned.) But, I will continue where I left off which was after the third round was completely over and we were waiting to hear about whether or not I’d be doing a full fourth round or not, depending on how my lungs looked.
I walk into chemotherapy on Monday, not sure what would be happening: full fourth round (aka three weeks of chemo), or just the one week (chemo every day—just not bleomycin). My oncologist greets me and starts running through the plan immediately; I would NOT be doing the bleomycin for the fourth round. There was nothing wrong with my lungs (they actually looked just as good as before I started chemo…) and there wasn’t any risks, but he felt we didn’t absolutely need to do it. And he didn’t want me doing a chemo treatment just for fun. SAME BRO! More great news: he said we would not need to do radiation at all, and I would get a CT scan this week to see how things were looking. I was thrilled. ONE MORE WEEK!! I pushed through that week with no issues, other than feeling fatigued. I also ate like shit knowing it was my last week to have a real excuse; jalapeño bagel with cream cheese, taco bell, you name it. YOLO was a real thing at this point. I also had plans to visit my boyfriend in Louisiana, and finally get out of Missoula after being stuck there for three months doing chemo; it would be nice getting a little southern sun. We had the most wonderful week in Louisiana; I met his ENTIRE family, bald as hell. And I only had one scare: I was sitting in the kitchen with my boyfriend and his family and my left hand suddenly went completely numb. I’m talking when you wake up with a damn noodle connected to your arm; I couldn’t move it AT ALL. I was still on blood thinner medication, so I wasn’t that worried about a clot, but it still scared the shit out of me. It went back to normal after maaaaybe a minute or two. And that was that! Never happened again (probably has something to do with the neuropathy I would later get). I come home after about a week to get the CT and blood results from my oncologist. I was so anxious. The level of anxiety is unexplainable and it literally happens every time I get blood work, scans, etc. We sit, patiently waiting. He comes in and asks, “do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Obviously bad; always bad news first because then the good news will erase it from your memory. He explains to me I have a residual mass that he believe is a teratoma (a tumor containing human parts like hair, nails, eyes, etc. Super fucking creepy.) or scar tissue. But the GOOD news—if it is a teratoma—is he believes it is benign, and I won’t need to do anymore treatment. It hadn’t grown or shrunk since my last CT which was a sign the tumor didn’t have any cancer cells. If it was cancerous it would have grown or shrunk, because of treatment. However, I will need a second surgery to remove it; teratomas can develop and become malignant and grow, if left long enough. But as of right now, everything looked great as far as numbers go, with no elevated levels in my tumor markers. He explains to me what he believes will happen: a small incision—possibly laparoscopic—to remove the tumor. He says me it will be “nothing like my first surgery”, where I could have possibly died on the table. After hearing this, I left his office feeling super positive, which didn’t happen often. I would be scheduled to have the surgery within the week, and then I could finally be done with it all. I was so excited to close this chapter of my life and move on to whatever was next; volleyball, a career, spending time with my boyfriend and family…whatever.
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I don’t know if I told you guys this buuuuuuut I got a medical marijuana card; I mean, I might as well get it while I can, right?? Everyone encouraged me to get one because it could help with insomnia, nausea, and appetite issues. Anyway, after the full week of Benadryl, lung exams, and bootyhole pokes, I needed some medicinal relief.
I had four 10mg edibles; they were little gummies. I am not fluent in marijuana so I had no idea how much 10mg really was, so I asked someone who was fluent (this person is to remain anonymous). I explained how much I had, the dosage, etc. They told me that was “nothing” and I should eat all four. They then quickly changed their mind and told me to just start with one, and if I don’t feel anything after 20 minutes to take another one. So, Saturday evening while the parents are out, I take an edible. I’m waiting and waiting and waiting, and I feel nothing. So, I listen to my friend who is WELL VERSED in all things marijuana, and I take another edible. I decide to sit down on the floor of my bedroom and paint my toe nails. About 20 minutes later, I stand up, and WHOOOOAAAAA; the world is spinning. I start to laugh because I realize the edibles are finally hitting me. I walk downstairs and the effects continue to escalate. When I realize they aren’t slowing down, and things are getting too intense for me, I start to panic. I sit down at the table and start freaking out; my parents were gone, I was alone. “Oh my gosh, what if there are demons in the house?!” I start freaking myself out, getting super paranoid. I FaceTime my boyfriend to hopefully calm down and it makes me freak out even more. I felt like I wasn’t the one FaceTiming him, but I was watching someone else FaceTime him. I wasn’t in real time, or at least I didn’t think I was. I decided to make oatmeal because I was STARVING but I also hoped it would suck up all the craziness like a sponge. That didn’t work at all, but it was delicious. I let my dogs inside because I didn’t want to be alone, then I came up with a genius idea: I started giving them commands like sit, stay, come, etc. When I would say, “sit” and they sat immediately, so I knew I was in real time. When I would start to freak out again I would give them a command. I continued this pattern for about 30 minutes before deciding this was way too much excitement for me. I laid down, shut my eyes, and focused on my breathing. It wasn’t long before I passed out on the couch. I woke up around 10pm in my bed, no idea how I got there; it reminded me of one of those horrible nights in college. Again, I go downstairs to get food and my mom is there. Inside, I panic, thinking, “SHE KNOWS!” But I pretend nothing happened and walked to the pantry for a snack, then head back to my room to eat and fall asleep once more. If I’m being honest, this is probably the most scared I have ever been during this entire journey. And I will tell you right now, I did not use that medical marijuana card again after that. After the excitement of the allergic reaction, I had my checkup with the surgeons from Billings that Friday; they were to look closely at my bootyhole to make sure everything was fine and dandy. I don’t care what they say, it isn’t FINE AND DANDY because it feels like glass is coming out every time I poop. It got to be so bad I started pinching the back of my arm or digging my thumb nail into the palm of my hand, to try and distract my brain from the pain in my ass (punny, lol). It worked pretty well, but I would’ve liked to not have to go through it anymore. So if they had to take a microscope to my butthole, so be it; not like they haven’t seen it before....500 times.
So I meet with one of the woman surgeons and she gives me an exam: I put my feet in stirrups and was spread eagle while she sat on a stool, face in my hooha. She tells me I have an “ulcer” which is also known as a cut, so it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. The bad news was it wasn’t going to heal until I was finished with chemo, which was technically about four more weeks. So she prescribed some gel and numbing cream and pretty much told me to finger my butthole right before I pooped. I honestly didn’t know what was worse: the pain or having to do that. When she finishes up, she tells me I am okay to do chemo Monday, which was a huge relief; I didn’t want to have a set back this late in the game. With no risk of getting infected from my own poop, I was good to go. I pick up the cream and Vaseline which turned out to be useless. So I ended up just saying F it and dealing with it. Crazy how the best feeling in the world aka pooping could turn into the worst feeling in the world; I would get so excited to poop, especially during chemo, and now it scared the shit out of me (lol). The next Monday I had my final day of chemotherapy for the third round, and maybe my last day of Bleomycin, depending on how my lung tests and numbers and doctors decision went. Because of my previous allergic reaction—and them having NO idea where it came from—they didn’t want to take any chances. They were going to give me Benadryl but instead of pill form, I would take it through my port (which is where they inject the chemo). I didn’t think anything of it; I’ve taken Benadryl before and I’ve received one thousand pounds of chemo through my port. They come over and give me the Benadryl through my port and almost immediately, I felt drunk. I got so warm and fuzzy and my body just felt heavy and sluggish and my brain was not functioning at all. I honestly don’t remember anything after this, but the nurses told me my mom had to carry me out. I came in later that week for my white blood cell booster shots (yes, we are still doing those). I am also still doing my blood thinners which is me giving myself a shot every morning! So I’m pretty bruised up from all the needles. I run into a woman at the cancer center who is in charge of genetic testing there. She stops to talk to me about getting it done, since I am so young and they have no idea how this happened; they wanted to check genes and go deeper into my family history to see if they can find something. I ask for more info and she takes me into a room and gives me the full rundown on cancer genes, etc. “Let’s do it!”, I say with ALL the enthusiasm. She told me the BRCA gene is the one for breast and ovarian cancer, and if I have this gene I may be at risk for breast cancer. If that was the case, I could have the option to remove my breasts completely, and have them redone. Honestly, this didn’t sound bad at all. New boobs? Boobs at all?? SURE! So she takes my blood and sends it off the the North Pole of genetic testing, and I would wait about three weeks to hear back. As I thought more about it, I don’t know which would be better: to find out you have the gene and could quite possible spread it to my children or to not have it and still have ZERO answers? That sounds dumb but honestly, not knowing how or why this happened was eating away at me from the inside out; I had no answers about anything that was going on. I just needed to do this in order to be better and it didn’t make any sense but I wanted to live so I guess I’ll just do it? That’s how I felt this whole time. So maybe now, they will tell me I have it and we will all know why this happened. But I would have to wait three weeks to find out...”Patience is a virtue”. AAAAAAAAND we’re back. It is still week two of the third round of chemotherapy treatment. On Monday, we had our checkup and blood work done and my oncologist came to the conclusion I would do a fourth round; “we have come this far. I would hate to skip a round and have it come back. Let’s just get it done while we’re here so you (hopefully) wont have to go through this again.” I agreed with him, although I don’t want to be doing chemo just for fun; if I don’t have to do it I would rather not, especially when it comes to the bleomycin. This was still to be determined; I would do a lung test and my oncologist would do his research and speak with other colleagues, to form the best plan possible. I would not know about his decision until the Monday of my fourth round and the anxiety was killing me. But, as I did for most of my treatment, I left it with God and whatever was decided was out of my control, and hopefully the best for me. My oncologist schedules an appointment for me to get my lungs tested during the last week of my third round, so I would not get these results back until the Monday of the fourth round as well.
It is now Tuesday during the second week of the third round (I’m sorry this is probably confusing trying to keep up with days and weeks and rounds). I had scheduled a meeting with a friend who ran the Christian fellowship group at the University of Montana, and he wanted me to speak with the students to maybe inspire them while they are going through their own trials. I am driving to meet him at a local coffee shop when all of a sudden, I feel something explode in the lower left area of my abdomen. Almost immediately after I felt the “explosion”, my stomach starts to hurt A LOT; I didn’t know whether I was going to throw up or poop my pants, but it definitely felt like something was going to happen. I think about canceling but then I tell myself, “it’ll pass; we will be fine.” So I continue driving to meet him, hoping I wont have to pull the car over. As soon as I arrive, I park and call him, telling him something is wrong and I really don’t feel good; it had gotten worse and I could barely stand up. He understands completely and we hang up the phone. I sit in the car debating on going home or just sucking it up, but then I start to feel hot; I look at the palms of my hands and they are completely red and starting to itch. I look in the mirror and my face was as red as a tomato and my eyes were bloodshot. Then, it hits me: I’m having an anaphylactic reaction to something. I had no idea what it could have possibly been; all I had to eat that day was eggs and soup, which I always eat. I call my mom and tel her what’s going on and I tell her I’m going to take a Benadryl and go home. She YELLS at me through the phone to go to the emergency room, but I really didn’t want to. Before going to the ER, I head to the local grocery store; my throat had started to close and breathing became difficult. I call the cancer center and they tell me to pick up Benadryl then head straight to the emergency room. I do just that. I pull up the emergency room wheezing, red-faced, and eyes bloodshot. I tell them what is going on and they send me back immediately. I am escorted to the back by a nurse, and as soon as I get to the nurses area they all recognize me as the fever girl and say hello and, “your hair is a little different”. I’m pretty sure everyone in the hospital knew who I was by now. I lay down on the bed and they start to pump me with steroids, Benadryl, etc. They hook me up to a machine tp monitor my breathing, as well as my heart rate, flood pressure, oxygen levels, and temperature. I remember starting to shake uncontrollably from feeling so cold. They keep piling blankets on me but nothing worked; I was absolutely freezing and my heart rate and blood pressure were through the roof. My mom shows up and sits next to my bed, getting me more blankets and watching my bald ass shake while wearing an oxygen mask; I can’t even imagine what that looked like but I feel bad. I always felt bad when things like this happened because it made me feel like even more of a burden than I already was (she is going to kill me for saying this). Everything starts to come back to normal and instead of feeling cold I felt HIGH AS SHIT; so drunk, oh my gosh, I could barely keep my eyes open. The big, bald man that helped me when I had the fever came in and starts talking to me about discharge protocol and what medicine I will need to pick up when I leave; because they had pumped me with so many steroids, I was going to have to ween my body off of them. If I didn’t, I could go through withdrawal symptoms. Weeeeeeird. He leaves the room and I stand up, ready to go. My mom and I head to the pharmacy to pick up the medication and then we head home so I can nap; I am exhausted and about to pass out. I remember wanting to work out but then I realized how ridiculous that was, so I opt out. I had the rest of the week to work out and one day wasn’t going to kill me (this entire process has taught me that). I had nothing more to do that week except have a checkup on Friday, and my daily visits to get my white blood cell booster. But other than that, things were slow in the world of Jennifer Keddy and I couldn’t be more excited. One thing I did realize though—after my life-threatening allergic reaction—was that every round of chemotherapy I did, I had some life-threatening side effect; I never threw up or had any of the typical side effects (minus my hair loss *rolls eyes*). I was lucky enough to get the super rare, extremely dangerous side effects! Which I had to laugh about because, OF COURSE I GET THOSE. The “golden egg”, remember?? I head to the cancer center the next day to get my white blood cell booster shot. As soon as I walk in, everyone starts asking me what the hell happened; I told them I had no idea because I reeeeally didn’t. One of the nurses started talking to me about what it could have been and they came to the conclusion that it was either the chemotherapy or the Zoladex, but it was most likely the Zoladex. I was confused because it wasnt the first time I had had the injection, but they said your body can build up an immunity to it and cause an anaphylactic reaction. Then they told me, “thank God it was your last one; it would be worse the next time!” What a relief. Since I have already mentioned I pooped my pants I feel like we should just stick with the topic for now. If you aren’t happy about it, I’m sorry; I can’t help it because it continued (not pooping, exactly). I go into the second week of the third round, with only one day of chemo scheduled. This was exciting for me because I only had one day buuuut I had to do another Zoladex shot aka “the water hose”. At least that’s what my nurse called it. And it was, he didn’t lie! It was gnarly and my heart started pounding every time before I got it, but I was pretty used to getting poked at this point. Whether it was in my port, a new IV, or my bootyhole, it didn’t seem to phase me anymore. So my nurse does the shot and then asks, “are there any more side effects or concerns?” I then tell him it feels like I am pooping shards of glass and it hurts really bad… “but other than that I am okay!!” He looks at me, confused, so obviously I explain in further detail. “Every time I poop, I have to pinch the back of my arm to distract my brain with pain somewhere else. Otherwise my body would never let me poop…but don’t tell the doctor!” This raised concern and he told me I needed to tell my oncologist. I tell the nurse that I hate complaining, especially when it is such a small thing. He looks at me and says, “there are no small things when it comes to chemotherapy,” which made a lot of sense. Soooo I wait for the oncologist to come meet with me so I can tell him all the fun I’m having!!!
My oncologist comes to my section and begins to speak with me about the blood work and CT results. He tells me the blood work looks great and my tumor markers are almost back to normal. Unfortunately, my blood work wasn’t and he mentions the possibility of a blood transplant. “Um what? Why? Please no!” This was because my neutrophils were getting to be too low which is extremely dangerous; if they got to be too low they would not be able to administer the chemotherapy. But he was not worried and said they would wait until the next week to see if my numbers bounce back, especially since it was an “off” week. He then goes on about the CT scan: I still had a remaining mass of two centimeters, which sounds really small to me but it’s not. He tells me it is most likely scar tissue or a teratoma: a benign tumor that can be made up of human parts like hair, teeth, eyeballs, etc. I know, it’s disgusting and if I remember correctly I threw up in my mouth. And although it is most likely benign I will still ave to do the fourth round of chemotherapy, just in case. But he still needed to decide if I would do the full round or if we would skip out on the B of the BEP. Just in case you don’t remember, the B is the bleomycin aka the most dangerous for me. This is the one that could cause serious lung problems and even death (although they all can do that). Of course, I didn’t want to do it if I didn’t have to. But I trusted him and I knew he would come up with the best solution, so I tried not to stress over it. When he finishes up going over my blood work, he looks at me and asks the dreaded question: “any new side effects or concerns?” I take a deep breath and say, “it feels like I am pooping shards of glass”. I then explain to him how painful it is and he calls my surgeon IMMEDIATELY and schedules and appointment for me for the coming Friday. I asked him why I had to see them and he told me they would need to examine and clear me before getting next weeks chemo. I start to panic, thinking the chemo would be pushed back and even more delayed than I originally thought. If I had serious lesions and cuts down there, it could be very bad for my body; my immune system still isn’t great and if I am getting poop in an open wound??? Well, I think we all get what could happen. DEATH BY A POOP INFECTION!!! “Here lies Jennifer Keddy who beat cancer but died from shitty complications.” That was morbid…but kind of funny. After this conversation, I felt relieved but still concerned. I still had a remaining mass which we would have NO idea what it is unless I get it removed and my butthole is rebelling against me. Great!! But this isn’t even the worst part (in my mind). From the very start of chemo, I always had the goal to play volleyball again. I didn’t get to finish out the season and I wasn’t going to let cancer decide when I was done playing. I don’t know if I was just being stubborn or determined, but I wanted to be ready to play come April when the league in the Philippines started up. That was my motivation for going to work out and train every day during chemo; that and health purposes. The doctors and nurses told me to move as much as possible so the chemo doesn’t just sit in my body, and I did just that. So to hear now that my chemotherapy treatment would go into the beginning of April was devastating for me. All I wanted to do was play again, and it was like God didn’t want me to; I was so angry for about five minutes to an hour after my chemo, I didn’t even feel like going to the gym. But then I realized how stupid I was being, and how immature I was acting. Other people have had it so much worse as far as treatment goes, and all of my checkups have come with good news. I started to be thankful rather than angry and full of self-pity. Here I am, alive and well, getting some of the best treatment and meeting some of the most wonderful people. After my little pity-party, my mom and I decided to go to Starbucks (she likes to treat me) and then we do our normal walking routine. For the rest of the week I continued with my routine of working out daily—sometimes twice—realizing I only had four more weeks if all goes well; I was almost done! In lieu of the recent election, and how our country has been functioning the last five-plus years, I have decided to write a special blog today. All we hear about from the media is how terrible people are, how Trump is destroying our country, and how, well, basically everyone sucks. We don’t hear about the good that happens and I blame the media for that. I’m all about presenting the news for people but come on, have you never heard of balance??? Present ALL news, not just what you want to present. Fuckers (sorry, I cant help myself. Too passionate). Anyway, this blog is dedicated to all the special people I met throughout my cancer journey; this could quite possibly be the hardest thing I have ever had to go through, as well as my family. So to the people that saw me every day, pushed me to be better and never give up, and who always brought a smile to my face…thank you.
To start off, I am going to take you back to when I was still in Germany. It was close to Christmas now, and most of my teammates had left to go home for the holidays. One of my teammates was on her way home and wanted to stop by to wish me well. She came with her fiancé and they met me outside of my apartment to say goodbye. She hugs me and with tears in her eyes, hands me a wooden lucky charm token. She explained to me that her mom had given this to her to bring her much luck, and she wanted me to take it, hopefully bringing me luck as well. Teary-eyed, I hug her one last time and thank her for being such a wonderful human and teammate. I put the lucky charm in my purse where it would remain throughout my journey. Soon after this incident was my return flight from to the states from Germany. I had just been unofficially diagnosed with cancer and told I have a GIANT tumor in my body; we’re still not sure where it is though, because it is so massive. I am on the plane, surrounded by strangers who have no idea the kind of turmoil I am currently in. (Side-note: this is a reminder to always be kind to one another and to never judge someone by their appearance; you have no idea what’s going on in their life, to make them dye their hair crazy colors or wear face masks and latex gloves out in public). I sit down in my seat on the plane next to, what I would find out shortly after sitting down, the most wonderful stranger I have ever met. We laughed, talked, and vented pretty much the entire 11 hour flight to San Francisco from Frankfurt, Germany. I will never forget this because I was such a mess and thought that I was going to go crazy thinking about everything that could potentially happen in my life. Instead, a stranger decided to take her time to talk and laugh with me about anything and everything rather than pass out or watch movies. The next story is about a special little girl I met at the gym. One day, before my workout, I was in the locker room getting dressed and prepped for my workout. At this point, I had cut my long hair to a bob, shaved one side of my head, and dyed my hair crazy colors. This little girl looks up at me and says, “I like your hair” in the cutest little voice. I looked at her with big eyes and said, “thank you very much!” She then explained to me that her mom wouldn’t let her dye her hair or cut it crazy like mine. I had to explain to her that I was an adult, and when I was her age I wasn’t allowed to do crazy things with my hair either. I walked out and did my workout, smiling the entire time. Shortly after this, I shaved my head because the hair had started to fall out and then all of a sudden I was bald. SO BALD. Time passed and I hadn’t seen this little girl and her mom in quite some time. But then, in February some time after Valentines Day, I met them in the locker room again. She saw me and came to me as I was sitting down getting dressed for my workout. She handed me a Valentine and her mom told me they wanted to give it to me on the proper date, but they never saw me. And they weren’t sure what my name was so instead of writing, “to: Jennifer”, it said, “to: Beautiful”. It took every ounce of energy I had not to burst into tears; I was now deep into my chemotherapy treatment and this small act of kindness meant everything to me. Ever since that day I have kept it in my purse pocket, along with the lucky charm, bringing it everywhere I go. Throughout chemo, I went to the gym almost every day (we know this already but it’s part of the story). Some days were harder than others; I struggled to find motivation to do anything and early on I wasn’t allowed to do much anyway, so what was the point? I couldn’t do what I normally could and that was tough for me. Coincidentally, on these tough days, there was always someone there to tell me how great I was or how much of a badass I was. This one man for example, was a man that went to my church, although we both had no idea at the time. It all started when my bald ass thought it would be a good idea to try some cardio!! It was my “off” week AKA I had chemo once that week and I thought I would be able to handle it. I hop on some weird, SUPER INTENSE, ski machine and I bust it out for five minutes. No joke, when I was done doing five minutes, I got off the machine and hunched over, desperately trying not to fall over and pass out. Amid my heavy breathing I hear a voice say, “are you okay???” I look up and see an older man with a long gray-black beard and long gray-black hair, wearing a red beanie, red and black flannel, and bright red sweatpants. If this doesn’t make you smile I don’t what will. I then make some HILARIOUS joke about cardio and he laughs and walks away (ps after this I never did cardio again, during chemo). From then on I would see him almost every day, because he would purposely seek me out. I would be doing something with my head down, and as soon as I looked up he would be standing there, in the same outfit. He would wave and say, “God bless you!” Then walk away. Every day. And every time after he did this I would look up and smile, knowing that God had sent me this wonderful person to keep me going, day after day. He didn’t have to, but he did. Other than this man, there were many others who encouraged me to stay strong and push through. One man I would see sporadically and he would come up to me every time he saw me, and he would tell me I am a badass and to keep working hard. Those days were usually the days I was struggling the most, thinking to myself, “why am I even here? I can’t do anything, I just want to go home and sleep”. But after he said this to me, it pushed me to complete my workout and push through the fatigue and pity I felt for myself and my situation. He, and many others, helped me to be strong when I didn’t feel like doing it that day. There were so so so many people who did wonderful things and reached out to me, sending me gifts, letters, visiting me and supporting me throughout my journey. They would constantly ask me about support and how I was handling my situation while I was doing chemo. A social worker would come around and ask questions like, “do you feel you have enough support? What about your home life?” And I thought about the wonderful family and group of friends I have been blessed with. I thought about my amazing, wonderful, perfect boyfriend who was with me every step of the way. And I also thought about these wonderful strangers who would then become my friends. I call these special people “the angels of the earth”. Because of all of this, I’ve recently come up with my own little rule. The rule is if you see someone, and you immediately think of something nice about them, TELL THEM. We don’t compliment people enough anymore! Either because we don’t want to talk to strangers, seem weird, or offend someone, I’m not sure. But I guess what I’m trying to say is this: compliment people more and spread love to everyone you see. You never know when someone is having the worst day of their entire life, and just one small notion of kindness can change that. There ARE great, wonderful, kind, loving, caring people in the world; don’t be scared to be one of them. WARNING: some (ALL) of this info may be considered TMI (no surprise)
I am in the last week of round two, getting my CT scan, blood work, etc. so we can see how much progress we’ve made from the very beginning. During this week I noticed something weird…I had been pooping almost twice a day, every day during my last week of chemo—which is when I have the easy stuff; just one session for 15 minutes on Monday. I think from going to the bathroom so much, my butthole started to rip. I wasn’t sure, because going two times a day was normal for me when I wasn’t doing chemo, so why would this be too much? It started to get a little worse going into the weekend before my next full week, but it wasn’t anything crazy. Monday comes and I start my third full week of chemo (still ready to kick some cancer booty). I did the blood work and everything that morning, and had an appointment with my oncologist later that week to get the results. I do my chemo and head to the gym for a workout, then go home. Everything is usually normal on these days; appetite is regular, bowel movements are normal, and so on. Tuesdays are when it starts to get a little weird; this is usually when my appetite goes and I eat like absolute crap once a day. Tuesday rolls around and I don’t poop, which could also be caused by the Taco Bell my mom brought me for lunch that day. Wednesday, no poop. Thursday morning, still no poop. So I ask the cancer nurses what I should do; I explain to them that I drink MiraLax twice a day, morning and evening, every day during my full days to avoid this. And it is still happening! The nurses tell me to drink it three times today (Thursday) and three times tomorrow (Friday). And if I still haven’t pooped by Friday evening, drink the milk of magnesia. So I did just that and by Friday afternoon, I just said, “screw it, I’m drinking the milk of magnesia”. By Saturday morning I thought FOR SURE I was going to poop. Saturday morning happens and still, nothing. I didn’t even have the feeling I had to poop, it was the most frustrating thing and it happened EVERY SINGLE ROUND. It felt like the food was just piling up and by Friday I was up to my esophagus in un-digested food. So, Saturday morning, I drink a large glass of milk of magnesia, CONVINCED I was going to poop Saturday evening. Guess what? YOU GUESSED IT: no poop *rolls eyes* I drink more Saturday evening; so sick of this. Sunday morning I wake up to my stomach growling. “YES!! I am finally going to poop!!” I run to the bathroom and sit on the toilet, so excited to poop. And then something happens that’s almost worse than not pooping at all: I had the most unsatisfying poop ever. Like, the tiniest little nugget came out and that was it. Sidenote: I am literally LOLing thinking about this exact moment and how I felt. Unsatisfying poops are the worst thing in this entire world. So what do I do in protest?? Drink more MOM (milk of magnesia). Shortly after, we head to church. I love going to church; it is a safe place and the feeling I get when I am there is one of complete and utter peace, even in my current situation. We head to lunch and then my mom and I go to walk, which is our chemo ritual; we walked every day together, usually two miles. We are walking and talking, almost finished with one mile, and I start to feel sort of…moist. I assumed it was sweat because it was March which meant it was freezing outside, and we were bundled up completely covered from head to toe, since the chemotherapy made me feel even colder. And we were kind of working out, so sweat made sense. I finally say to my mom, with a little chuckle, “Mom, I need to stop at the restroom. I honestly think I pooped my pants.” She laughs and says, “REALLY?!?!” And I laugh, too, thinking how ridiculous that sounds. I go in the bathroom, pull down my leggings, and sure enough I had literally pooped my pants. And it wasn’t just like a little poop when you forget to wipe all the way. It was actual, full on, poop; like a freakin infant that poops and it starts to come out the sides of their diaper. I was like a child! The worst part was I didn’t even feel it coming out. I am dying laughing in the bathroom and I come outside and my mom already knows but she laughs and asks anyway. I tell her I need to go home and shower, so I leave her to walk the rest of the way and I lay a towel down in the car and drive home. I walk into chemo the next morning, and I stop at the nurses station. I say to them, “um I would like to file a complaint, please? Where is the comment box?” And they laugh and ask me why and I then tell them that, because of THEIR recommendation to drink the MiraLax and MOM, I had pooped my pants. Like an infant. All at once they started to laugh and ask what happened, so I tell them the whole story. After I finish they say, “that won’t be the last time!” And we start laughing and sharing more pants-pooping stories. It was a wonderful day. And just to clarify, so no one runs off the internet thinking I pooped my pants again, I did not. This was the only time. You’re welcome. Pre-blog post food rant, coming in HOT: so I talked about how healthy I am, right? Y’all read that? Okay, cool, can’t tell you the last time I ate bread, cheese, etc. Well let me tell you now thing about chemo: you are going to crave weird ass food and that is the only food you are going to want to eat all damn day. It was the weirdest shit ever! During my once-a-week chemo sessions, I didn’t have any change in appetite (other than loss; I never had any cravings. But during my full weeks??? Ohhhhhh man. I would have my mom bring me lunch DURING chemo, and I would ask for things like Taco Bell, chili-cheese fries, chicken nuggets, burritos, bagels, cupcakes. . . If it was unhealthy I wanted it. One time I even craved spaghetti noodles with JUST butter. Noodles and butter. Soooo I’m all of a sudden 12 and can’t eat a real meal?? Fine, I’ll take it. Rant over, blog continued.
After the photo shoot, I head home and I’m not one hundred percent positive but I’m pretty sure I fell asleep around 8pm. Which is acceptable when you are doing chemotherapy treatment. If I wasn’t doing chemo I would just be labeled as a lazy bum with no life, which is also true. I fall asleep and wake up around two in the morning, my left arm throbbing. Almost immediately after I noticed the pain, my brain automatically said, “blood clot”. I have no idea why I thought that or why I would think that; my family has no history and I had never had a problem before. I thought about it some more and thought maybe I was sore from working out or my muscles were tired from doing all of those crazy poses. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I knew I had woken up for a reason. And I knew “blood clot” came to my mind for a reason. The next day, I go in for my single chemo treatment. We do the normal vital check and before the nurse leaves, they ask me if I had any new symptoms or concerns. I mention the pain I had last night and they schedule me for an ultrasound. “I don’t think you’ll have a blood clot but we need to check, just in case.” So I do my chemotherapy and head over to get the ultrasound directly after. I get the ultrasound and head home, waiting for my doctor to call with the results. My family and I are sitting at the table eating dinner, all of us anxiously awaiting a phone call from my oncologist. It finally rings and I answer it before the first ring was over. I shoot out of my seat and walk to the living room, “hello, hi, it’s Jennifer”. The doctor then says, “I had many, many patients come in with concerns of a blood clot. And none of them had one except for you!” YAAAAAAYYYY!!! Another rare side-effect for the win. And another near-death side-effect at that. I was either the Golden Child or the most unlucky person to ever walk this earth. He then explains to me the severity of the situation; I had never known anyone with a clot so I didn’t know how it worked. He told me I would need to go to the pharmacy TONIGHT to pick up my prescription for Lovenox. Remember those fun, little shots I had to give myself after surgery for thirty days?? Yeah, they were back. And with a vengeance, I might add! Six. Fucking. Months. I had to give myself shots for six months now because of this damn clot. “Sooooo, can I still work out?” I ask. He laughs and says, “you have a blood clot and you’re worried about working out??” I’m shocked he even had to ask that. He tells me I need to take it easy now: no heavy weights with my upper body and no cardio, at least for two weeks. And ABSOLUTELY NO extreme sports. While on the Lovenox I needed to protect my head; I was going to be on blood thinners and a head injury would not be good. “We don’t need any brain bleeds” he said to me. I was upset but had to remind myself this is temporary and the doctor only wants to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. I would get a follow-up ultrasound in July to make sure the clot was gone but until then, Lovenox shots for dayssssss (months, actually). I hang up the phone and fill in my family. Then I leave to go pick up my prescription that I would need to start that night, before I go to bed. I get in the car and start to head into town, and I remember last night. The way I work up and it just popped into my head like that. . . I then realized it was God speaking to me, saving me and protecting me. Of course it was; there is no other explanation. There is no chance that I would just come up with that on many own, and if I wouldn’t have thought it was something as serious as a blood clot, I would have never mentioned it to my doctor. God—AGAIN—was looking out for me. I always knew I was never alone in this, but this was just a small (really big, actually) reminder. Later that week, my mom and I went to the gym together; we always walked together but since it was freezing cold outside, we decided to take it to the gym. I sit on a ledge to put my things down and sit for my mother to meet me at the track. She gets there and as I stand up, I slam my head against the bar that was above me. I start laughing; no “extreme sports” allowed because of brain bleeds, and I hit my head on a bar BEFORE walking. LOFUCKINGL. Apparently I wasn’t safe anywhere. Luckily, I did not get a brain bleed from this incident. I finish out my second round; tumor markers look great, organs are functioning, my lungs are still in the safe zone…things were good. We finished out the round strong, ready for a third. And ready to get my first CT scan since the day of my surgery. I was anxious and nervous to see how things were progressing, hoping we were headed in the right direction. But I would have to wait until the Thursday of my last week in my second round to get the CT, and then the next week for the results. Having cancer was a constant waiting game, which might be the worst part. Here we are, round two out of three (maybe four, depending on how we look). I walk into my first day of the second round of chemo with my freshly-shaved head held high, ready to conquer another full week. Monday through Friday, five hours each day—six on Mondays! So much nap time and time with all of my nurse friends; I love going to chemo. It’s almost like being sent to detention, but it becomes social hour so it’s your favorite. And you try to get sent there every day because you love it so much. Side note: everyone loved my new hairstyle (or they felt bad for me, but either way is fine). It’s Monday and I get my blood drawn and tumor markers taken; they wanted to check my progress as far as healing from cancer as well as the cold/fever. He comes back and says there is great progress being made as far as my tumor markers, so that was exciting. He said to me, “when you started, one of your tumor markers was over 2,500…really, anything is better than that! But now you’re at around 200, after only one round” which I presume is FANTASTIC. He also tells me my white blood cell count is outrageous; I had made a full recovery AND some. He told me how high it was and I felt like a superhuman. I’m talking numbers so high, if I broke my leg it would just snap back into place, like one of those dolls. Nothing could make me sick ever again! Funny, I was getting chemo because I had cancer, lol. He told me he would lower the dosage for next week (when I wasn’t doing chemo) and I wouldn’t have to go over the weekend. He goes over my organ function and tells me my liver is a little high. I immediately freak out inside and start asking all sorts of questions like, “am I dying??” And, “should I be worried? What can I do to fix it?” He told me, verbatim, “I could take you downtown Missoula, Montana, and come back with waaaaay worse numbers than this.” Soooooo I guess we were totally fine. That made me feel better. Turns out, it was because of the protein I was drinking; it had some sort of chemical which made it hard for my body to process. DON’T WANT THAT!!! After we finish our meeting, he does his normal checkup: checks the glands—ankles, hips, neck—then checks my throat. Everything looks great so he shakes my hand and says, “peace, sister!” Loved that; I still laugh thinking about it. I felt really good mentally and physically: tumor markers were looking good, I was no longer neutropenic—I was a superhuman—and my organs were functioning well (including my lungs—I did tests before starting the new round). I finish out my chemo for the week, and during this time my hair had thinned out A LOT; I looked like a female, Benjamin Button when he is in the older stages, with hair around the sides of my head but not on top. It looked absolutely ridiculous but whateverrrrrrr, still rocked it at the gym. It was nice though, because I didn’t just look like a psycho at the gym wearing a mask and gloves; people now realized some real shit was happening and I wasn’t just training to become a serial killer. I get through the second week of chemo and the weekend arrives. My friend is a photographer and wanted to do something special for me, to raise awareness and let people know cancer doesn’t discriminate. No matter how old or young you are, or how healthy you are; it can happen to anyone at any time. Sunday comes and I meet her at a spa to get my makeup done and then we head to her house, where the shoot would take place. We were going to do it outside but since A. I was cold ALL THE TIME, B. I was just in the ER for having a cold, and C. The whole chemo thing, we decided not to. She had gathered dresses and jewelry from local boutiques for the shoot; everything was donated which is amazing. And everything was so beautiful, I felt like a damn Queen, which was my friends goal in the first place. We had a lot of fun shooting; I almost passed out a couple of times from standing which is so embarrassing, but she made it work. She had brought her assistant and a videographer with her for the shoot, and they were interested in hearing my story. So I told it from start to where we were at now; it probably took 30 minutes. My best friend came with me and stayed for the whole thing, and at one point they interviewed us together. She started crying which made me start crying…it turned out to be a very emotional day and I did not expect it. By the time the shoot was over I was physically exhausted: from standing to sitting, to changing dresses and jewelry and posing for however long, my body was done. It sounds so ridiculous to say that, because I workout for a living. But I was done. We had a blast though, and it felt good to get out and have something to do other than workout. AND I was able to be social, which is what I love doing and where I thrive. If it wasn’t for my bald head I would’ve forgotten what I was doing there in the first place!! But I just want to thank everyone who contributed to that shoot, to the lovely woman who photographed everything because she has a wonderful heart and wanted to help, and to my best friend AGAIN for being the most wonderful support system a girl could ask for. LOVE YOU$ PS below is the instagram link to her page; she does great work so follow her!
So I go to my chemotherapy appointment that Tuesday, and one of the nurses at the cancer center had organized a new calendar for me. This calendar included all of the pills I needed to take and when, when my chemo appointments were, and now it included the days I needed to come in for my white blood cell booster. I look at the calendar and it was almost every single day I didn’t have chemo. I guess they had to be really careful with my doses, and they could NOT give me the booster during chemo; it would make me sick and maybe do bad things to my heart…I think they said something about it killing me but I can’t really remember. So during the full weeks of chemo I would not get the blood cell boost, but come Saturday I would start the booster shots. And during the weekends the cancer center was closed, so I would need to go to the hospital. As long as I don’t end up in the emergency room again, near death because of a damn cold, I am okay with it!
After getting out of the hospital, I started wearing the mask and gloves in public places. When I would go grocery shopping, the movies, or to Wal Mart, for example. I remember one time, when I went to Wal Mart after working out, I was wearing the latex gloves and a mask, because you can never be too safe (especially in a crowded place like Wal Mart). I am checking out and the lady at the counter says, “so, are you protecting yourself or us…?” Like I was some sort of gross, sick human who could kill everyone if she touched them. First of all, who asks that??? Second of all, I don’t know, but I responded with, “Um I’m protecting myself, because you all are disgusting.” She did not laugh. Not even a little bit. I quickly reassured her I was joking, even though I low key wasn’t; I told her it was a little bit of both. We then talked about all the nasty germs out there and how it was “smart” of me to protect myself. Bihhhh, you right!!! I finish the first round of chemo and I start to notice more crazy side effects: every time I got goosebumps (which was a lot, because the chemotherapy makes you feel cold…loss of blood, etc.) it felt like needles were trying to come out of my pores, but they weren’t able to poke through. I also noticed a fun thing that involved hair loss. . . I was showering one day; washing my body, etc. I’m washing and washing, and I see my hooha hair was thinning out. I feel it and, NO JOKE, I could LITERALLY pull out my pubic hair...WITH MY HANDS!!!!! It was freakin awesome, I started laughing in the shower because I couldn’t believe it. I then realized that this meant I was probably going to start losing my hair soon, and maybe my eyebrows. But it also meant I was going to lose my armpit hair and leg hair soon. Honestly, my excitement about losing that hair trumped the sadness of losing my head hair. Thursday morning I am sitting in the gym parking lot, pondering going inside. And sure enough, the hair on my head was starting to come out; as I am putting my hair up, I notice it’s coming out in clumps in my hands. I immediately call my hair stylist and schedule and appointment for that Saturday: I was going to shave my head. This ended up being a lot easier than I thought, and I think that’s because of my mentality going into it. I was really excited to try all the hair styles I would never have the balls to try. This was more of an experience for me rather than a sickness. People might think I am crazy for saying that, but it’s true: this was part of my entire life adventure and journey. This is how we learn!! And I was going to learn as much as I possibly could. About myself, life, and so many damn lessons I don’t even know where to begin. It sucks, but sometimes we have to go through some real shit to be able to learn and grow as individuals. |
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#1 – The Beginning
It was the middle of June, 2017 and I had just flown home to Montana from California; before California I was in the Philippines playing a season for the PVL (Premiere Volleyball League). I spent about a month and a half there before I came back to the states for my off-season. While I was there, we ate things I normally don’t eat every day, and you cant drink the water because it will make you very sick. (You’re probably wondering why I’m giving you a food journal, but I promise it is valuable information.) When I got home from the Philippines I spent some time in California with my family that lives down there: dad, stepmom, aunts and uncles, cousins, siblings, nieces and nephews…lots of family. After about a week there I came back to Montana to hang out for the rest of the summer. Coaching camps, hanging out with family and friends, I was really living the dream. While I was home, it was time for my annual checkup with my gynecologist. I say annual but in reality, at my age, I would really only need to go every two years. But I prefer to go every year; better to be safe than sorry, eh? She was going to preform the normal Pap smear, breast exam, abdominal exam, STD screening, and I even asked her to do a skin cancer screening because I was nervous about some of my moles. I was having the full work up. Before she started the exam, I had complained about bloating, some pain, and constipation. She performed the exam and everything looked and felt normal. We both shrugged it off; I blamed it on traveling so much within the last two weeks, taking 16 hour flights, and possibly eating or drinking strange, exotic foods and liquids. She agreed, and I walked out of her office feeling great, and I even got a clean pap report later that week. I was as healthy as a horse. While I was in the Philippines, I signed with a team to go back to Germany (different team) in the fall for another long season. I spent the next month having a wonderful time with family and friends, training and preparing my body for the next season, before heading back to California and then Germany. I left for Germany at the beginning of August, with a return flight for April of 2018. Archives |