A New Chapter

I wrote my last post about six months ago. For those of you that still check in on my blog, I am sorry to have left you hanging. Yes, I’ve been busy. And yes, the cancer updates have thankfully slowed. But I don’t think those are the reasons I’ve failed to write. Strangely enough, sometimes sharing good news is almost more difficult than sharing bad news. I don’t want to come across like I am bragging. Or worse, I don’t want to jinx all the great things that are bubbling up.

But all of you have been through so much with me—you deserve to hear a little good news, too. I want you to know that my life is pretty wonderful right now. And I have a lot of exciting updates to share with you…

1. Jamin and I got engaged. He proposed to me in our studio surrounded by hundreds of flickering candles. It was the most perfect engagement—definitely a moment I will remember forever. Two days afterward, we jetted off to Italy for a vacation full of delicious food, rich history and bottomless glasses of wine. I cannot begin to express how excited I am to marry Jamin. He is an amazing man and will undoubtedly make an incredible husband. It almost seems like a wedding is just a formality for us. We have already shown that we will be true to one another in good times and bad, in sickness and in health. But don’t worry, there will be a beautiful wedding and an amazing party to follow.

2. As of April 24th, I am officially one year cancer free. The anniversaries of a cancer patient are important ones, as each year out is another year of a life reclaimed. I’m happy to report that there are days, even weeks, that I don’t think about cancer. And when I do, it feels like a more distant memory. These days my darkest moments seem more superficial—the occasional meltdown in the Victoria Secret dressing room as I try to figure out my new body, or my impatience with my hair not growing quickly enough. But those problems I can handle.

3. I quit my job and am going to nursing school. While my departure from advertising has been a long time coming, my diagnosis certainly affected the rate and direction of my career move. I became a student of my own experience the moment I got sick. And the more time I spent with my nurses, the more I realized that I wanted to become one. I am certain that my experience with cancer will make me a better, more empathetic practitioner. After a year of taking my science courses online, I was accepted to an accelerated nursing program.

4. Which brings me to my last exciting update—we are moving to Portland. All of us. Jamin has already started a Masters of Urban Planning program at Portland State University. And I begin classes at Oregon Health and Science University at the end of June. What’s even more exciting is that my family is moving, too. My parents have wanted to move out west for awhile now, and all the stars aligned when they sold their house in Indiana. We are all moving out together. Tomorrow. After all we have been through, I am so excited to begin this next adventure. Sunday dinners at my parents’ house, hikes with my sister and her boyfriend, and studying at the coffee shop with my fiancé. It is all too perfect. Not to mention that two of my very best friends in the world, Kevin and Maggie, are also living there.

Well, there it is. About eighteen months ago, I thought my world was ending. But with the support, prayers and love from each and every one of you, I have come out on the other side. Thank you for helping me through the darker days so I can continue to enjoy the bright ones.

What will happen to my blog? I’m not sure. I want to write again. Maybe about cancer, maybe not. Maybe about this next adventure. But for now, just know that I am better. I am the happiest I have been in a long time. And I could not have done it without you.

Collateral Damage

A few days ago, I drafted a blog post to commemorate November 2nd, one year from the day I was diagnosed. I wrote about surviving a year of intense chemotherapy, two surgeries and incredible emotional upheaval. The tone was inherently upbeat; the sentiment was positive and forward-looking. I even went so far as to say that the whole experience was behind me, proudly stating that there were days I didn’t even think of cancer. Life had continued onward.

But before I could publish this triumphant blog post, I got news that knocked me right off my feet. I debated keeping the news to myself, but I’ve tried so hard to keep my blog honest and my writing genuine, so I’ve decided to share this, too.

After a consultation and ultrasound with a reproductive specialist, I found out that the chemotherapy did too much damage to my ovaries. So much so, that I likely won’t ever be able to conceive.

I am absolutely heartbroken. And shocked. Throughout the process, everyone has continuously reassured me that everything would kick back into gear. Unfortunately, once again, the odds are against me. I am of the small percentage of women whose ovaries will never wake back up.

I’m writing about this because I think it’s important. So many people - people with incredibly good intentions - have asked me when all of this is “over”. When are you done? When’s your last chemo? I truly believe these people mean well. And I think that what they are really wondering is, When can I stop worrying about you? When can I be sure that you are OK?

To those that are wondering, it is never over. There is no distinct end date. Although my appointments have lessened and my hair has lengthened, I am not finished recovering. I am not finished grieving the losses and I have not fully accepted nor understood the long term effects of what has happened to me. News of my infertility is just as debilitating as my initial diagnosis. It’s collateral damage that suddenly makes me question every treatment choice I made to rid my body of this disease. Was it worth it? I don’t know.

Call it denial or call it hope, but I struggle to believe that I won’t ever be able to conceive. Stranger things have happened. But one thing is for sure: I know in my heart that I will be an absolutely incredible mother one day.

Smooth Sailing

Hey everyone! It’s Jamin. I’m back for a guest blog post to update you on Carissa’s operation this morning.

The day was pretty well summed up by what Dr. Migliori (the plastic surgeon) said to us following the procedure: “She’s a super-star”. Carissa went in with cheerful resolve and complete confidence in her doctors and nurses. She came out into the recovery room relaxed and with a quiet sense of relief of knowing another milestone was met.

She’s back home tonight, where Jeff, Kate, Caitlin (and Jack) and will keep on top of her pain meds, take short walks around the block and keep her company. We all agree with Dr. Migliori - she’s handling it like a super-star, as we knew she would.

Save the Date, Part II

Pink

This month has brought an unusual amount of pink into all of our lives. From the NFL game day apparel to the explosion of pink decor at the local coffee shop, it’s hard not to notice Breast Cancer Awareness Month. 

Having unwillingly entered into this club, I’ve found the reactions to pink really interesting. As an outsider, I had wrongly assumed that all breast cancer survivors loved pink. Why wouldn’t they? Pink, Komen, Avon.. they are all just advocating for something survivors must inherently want people to support. As it turns out, some survivors despise pink; others embrace it to the fullest extent.

Some, like myself, sit somewhere in the middle. At a certain point, my tolerance for pink reaches it’s limit. (My limit lives somewhere before Kentucky Fried Chicken’s Buckets for the Cure.)

I work in advertising, and unfortunately, I know how this works. There is no doubt that certain companies “pinkwash” (a term coined by a group called Think Before You Pink). While the prevalence of pink doesn’t really bother me, I do get upset when companies wrap unhealthy, or worse, carcinogen-containing products, in a pretty pink breast cancer awareness bow. Up until recently, nail polishes contained formaldehyde, a known carcinogen. Yet, multiple nail polish companies launched and promoted their “breast cancer pink” colors. And KFC’s Buckets for a Cure? That’s insane. The amount of hormones pumped into that bucket of chicken would have my estrogen/progesterone positive breast cancer rearing it’s ugly head again.

Regardless of questionable marketing tactics, I do believe that there are some positive sides to pink. One is the sense, manufactured or not, that there is a groundswell of support behind breast cancer awareness and research. And as a patient, there are benefits to being diagnosed with what some have called a popular cancer. From the plush robes at the breast center to the endless amount of resources I was offered, it was clear that being well funded had perks. Not to mention I, a twenty-four year old, went in for a mammogram when I found a lump. And I happened to get this mammogram during the month of October, when pink was certainly top of mind. 

I also believe that there is something incredible about the walks and races that breast cancer inspires. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to be surrounded by not one, but hundreds and hundreds of women who have been through what I have been through. And hundreds more who support all of us.

While I won’t be running in any races this year, I hope to take part one day. For now, I will cheer on my friends and family from the sidelines. I’m so thankful to my cousin Katie, her husband Gary and my friends Emily, Callie, Jared and Brian for recently running in my honor. I am humbled and proud to have you in my corner. And to everyone who donated to the fundraisers - thank you. Much of your donations help provide mammograms and diagnostics to people who cannot afford health care and this alone is something I am incredibly passionate about.

So as you round out the final weeks of October, please do me a favor by taking five minutes to give yourself an exam. Those five minutes, in my opinion, make all of this pink hullabaloo worth it.

Huge thank you to all the people that have run in my honor!! Pictured here are my cousin Katie, Gary, their friends and my best friend Emily. Love to you all :)

Be the Match

Many of you know the story of Eric, my friend and coworker who was diagnosed with cancer exactly one month after me. In a moment, I’m going to ask you to help Eric, but first I want to tell a story about the type of person he is.

Eric came over about a week before my mastectomy. At the time, I was getting over shingles, anxious about surgery and not in the best frame of mind. As Eric and I settled onto couchbed, he noticed a book resting on my coffee table. It was hard not to notice this book, as the cover featured a beautiful photograph of a topless woman.

The book was Reconstructing Aphrodite, a collection of photography and stories of women who had undergone breast surgery. My friend Maggie had given it to me to help me cope with losing my breasts. 

As Eric leafed through the book, I wondered if he was uncomfortable. Very few people know what breasts look like after a mastectomy. That first peek can be rather jarring. And the subject of breast reconstruction - while every day conversation for me - can make others a bit uneasy.

But as Eric perused the photos, he sweetly announced that he was going to read the stories to me. That afternoon, the two of us sat on couchbed eating Chipotle, while Eric read through story after story of strong, beautiful breast cancer survivors. 

Eric’s optimism was contagious, and his empathy so genuine. Those few short hours of story time gave me such a boost as I prepared for surgery. As I listened to Eric reading the stories of these remarkable women, I knew that one day I would stand topless in the mirror and be proud, not sad. I knew that one day I would be able to see my scars as me reclaiming my life, not losing it. 

While those weeks after my surgery were some of the toughest I have ever gone through, Eric is now in the midst of his uphill battle. Although initial results were good, his latest PET scan showed that after five months of chemo the cancer advanced to Stage IV. Eric is undergoing aggressive chemotherapy right now and faces a bone marrow or stem cell transplant in his near future. With no immediate relatives as a match, Eric must turn to the National Marrow Registry to find a match.

I’m asking (pleading) for anyone who is eligible to sign up to join the registry. There are a few drives in Minneapolis (one tomorrow at Fallon), but if you live outside of the Twin Cities area you can still register. 

Visit join.marrow.org/ericg to register. The website provides details on eligibility and commitment so you can fully understand what you are signing up for. If you are eligible to join the registry, Be the Match will send you a kit to swab your mouth for DNA samples then send it back, free of charge. You can also click here to find bone marrow drive locations near you.

The National Marrow Registry is Eric’s only hope for finding a match. Whether it’s Eric or another cancer patient, signing up could truly mean saving a life. Please consider joining for Eric, for me and for every other cancer patient that needs something to believe in. 

Two days after my surgery, Eric wheeled over during his chemotherapy session to say hello. The two of us were high as kites, earnestly attempting to have a conversation. As he put it, “imagine a couple of drunks who don’t understand the difference between nouns and verbs trying to do Mad Libs”.

Finding Strength - My Article for GiveForward →

I love it when good things come out of crummy situations - an act of kindness during a crisis, a rainbow after a threatening storm or the discovery of oneself after a time of trouble. 

I don’t think I will ever get to a place where I feel grateful to have had cancer. I don’t wish cancer upon anyone, nor do I believe that illness is something survivors should feel lucky to have gone through.

But I do feel grateful for the reactions that cancer lured out of myself and the people around me. I am most grateful for the support and love of my family and friends - without that, I never would have opened up about my experience. And the act of opening up, or in my case writing about my experiences, has been such an important part of my recovery.

There were times when I couldn’t process how I felt until I began drafting a blog post. Some days were so bad that the only way to get through it was to type it all out. And on other days, I turned to the blog to broadcast my medical successes and stories, like Paris and the bracelet, that inspired me along the way. This blog has been intrinsically braided with my cancer experience, and I am grateful to have everything documented for me to look back on. 

A few months ago, GiveForward, the company my friend Nicole used to fundraise for me, reached out to see if I would write a guest blog post for them. A summary of the story many of you are familiar with, I wrote about a message that inspired me to see my own strength differently. 

Click here or on the title of this post to view my article on GiveForward, and thank you all for your support of me and my writing!

Big Day

Seven months ago my family, girlfriends, Jamin and I gave an emotional send off to my long hair and raised a glass of champagne to my new, bald look.

And today, my cousin Hannah gave me my very first post-chemo haircut.

Yahoo!!!! 

A big day for the little things.

Pictures of the amazing “welcome back” reception my friends and coworkers put together for me this morning. I am lucky to be surrounded by such incredible people!