Past The Meridian

There's something about the middle of the night, that awakens my soul. It happens every night, almost always around 1:27 am, when I arouse as if morning. Astutely alert. It's become a time of prayer and meditation, and deep reflection. 

I'm down in LA early, focusing on healing my body, my mind, and my soul/energy from the stressors and factors that I believe threw my body out of alignment which has facilitated the accelerated tumor growth. Which, ideally, should help me prepare for the March 3rd brain surgery, which lands on Dan's birthday. 

I arrived, on my own, extremely late Saturday night, and by Sunday, early evening, I found myself huddled in a ball on the bathroom floor riddled with food poising. I had asked my father for a few days by myself before he arrived, to give the illusion of independence - knowing that long periods of solitude in high stress/fatigue ridden periods, lead to seizures, and that my ultimate solitude would be a burden on Dan and my family/friends because they would worry - so I had ended up asking him to join me as a guardian. Anyway, Tuesday afternoon, my dad arrived, and by that point I was long past the ability to hold down water. I was delirious, and weak, so he ended up taking me to the hospital. Between the care I received there, and some amazing care from my friends here in LA, and some badass tinctures, within 24 hours, I was back to feeling human. I'm still on a broth diet, but last night we were able to add sautéed vegetables and tempeh, so that was a pretty awesome success.

I'm here to work on evolving my mindset, and removing negative factors. I've learned recently that in life, and relationships, I have taken on the role of a screen/filter. So when people come to me and unburden themselves with the negative/emotional things that go on in their lives, I process that information, and although, often, people feel better releasing their heavy buildup, I end up getting stuck with the sediment. No one does it purposefully. No one wants to hurt me. I just can't seem to take those things in stride. They weigh down my soul.

When your soul is weighed down, it effects your hormones, especially your stress hormones. Recently, a doctor told me that she believes that my explosive tumor growth (3 tumors, one enhancing), is because of the amount of emotional stress in my life, and that tumors actually secrete growth hormones, strengthening the cancer. She mentioned some sort of tumor growth factor - I can't remember the exact term though, perhaps one of you awesome blog readers know what I'm talking about. I'm not going to research it though, because I don't want it to stress me out. I don't want to focus on the negative. I don't really need specific proof -  I can viscerally feel that it's the truth.

Anyway, I recognize that my environment is paramount to my success in achieving true health, and that means protecting myself from negative influences. Even perceived negative influences - whether or not they mean me harm. I am the only person who can make the decision to put my health first. To make the hard choices to separate myself from situations and people and energy that will not serve my healing. It's incredibly hard to pull back and analyze these things, and focus, truly, on what I need to evolve and grow. 

So for now I have pulled back from almost everyone in my life, because I need a true period of time for reflection, and reconnection with my intuition. To truly understand what will serve me, and what kind of social load I can realistically maintain.

Yesterday afternoon, I had an epiphany. I felt like my whole life, including this cancer journey had lead up to this moment, but that I had crossed a meridian, and was now a tiny speck on a new journey, with immeasurable growth to attain. A Universe full of insight and development, full of lessons, if I so chose to embark, to listen, and to absorb. And I do! It feels so right, so true for me. It's one of the most natural things I've ever felt, to finally find what "healing" means to Me. 

I believe I needed those days huddled in a ball, guts cemented in torture, to bring my body, my mind, and my soul, back to a rebirth. A new kind of evolution. That everything in my life brought me to that bathroom floor, in a loving ground level apartment in Marina Del Rey, full of the sounds of birds, and fresh breezes, carrying the scent of jasmine from the front door. Less than two weeks from a brain surgery, at a time when I would typically be overextending myself, I found myself forcibly aware of the necessity to really recognize my role in my own healing. That if I couldn't start to pull away from the demands of this world, which was creating a proliferation of cancer, and put myself first, I was going to aide in killing myself. 

Healing myself is a choice, and I have many wonderful guides and teachers, both western trained, and others, and with the combination, I am finally finding my stride, my raw self. Once you're cut down to your most vulnerable self, you can build a new sturdy foundation, and that, my friends, is exactly what I plan to do.

Thank you for being patient with me while I revel this process. If I don't respond to your text messages, or emails, or communication on any level, it is not personal, it is not about you or anything you have done or not done. This is about me, and about me allowing myself the privilege to work on my own healing. I'm not sure if I will post another blog before surgery. And in the same vein I might write many. I'm going to feel things out and be true to my inner voice and do what feels best. 

During the surgery, my mom has offered to do updates on the blog to share information as they receive it in the waiting room. I'm sure, though, someone will post the surgery time the night before (which is when they will notify us), we'll post that info for those who may be moved to pray or send healing thoughts to my surgical team, and to me, and the family. For me, I ask you to unburden my family during that time. If you could please turn to the blog for information, instead of hitting up my family's cell phones, it would mean a lot to me. I want them to have the least amount of stress as possible. There are so many of you amazingly wonderful people that care so much about us, and we are all very grateful, but if they're on their phones during the whole surgery, then they won't get the chance to be in the moment, to take care of each other, to support and love one another. I hope for them to have some semblance of calm, and know that I am being healed. These are special moments when we get to come together, and focus on what's right in front of us.

I really do appreciate your support, your kindness, and your understanding for what we're all going through. I hope to write more again before surgery, but if not, truly know that your love and positive energy is tangible in my life, especially in these days while we're dealing with so much. I have such a huge amount of gratitude to all of you. Thank you for sharing your prayers, and for entering me into your prayer circles, and for sharing my journey with your friends, because I can feel their love and prayers too.

I recently finished a fascinating book on Hado, specifically, The Secret Life of Water, by Dr Masaru Emoto. He analyzed water crystals forming in different environments (during specific music, or words, or emotions, etc.), and what he found is that the crystals formed beautiful, symmetrical shapes during [many] times but specifically of prayer. My prayer, and my hope, is that all of your beautiful prayers, and love, and my deep gratitude, may bring my body and spirit beautiful symmetry, beautiful wholeness, as well. May I be blessed with your Hado (Baha'i, Catholic, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, agnostic....etc.) healing. I'm very very grateful for your kindness, and your love.

Sent this to Dan the morning after I arrived. Wearing his shirt so that I could feel close.
The calm before I fell ill.
I'm wearing it every single night. Should probably wash the funk out, but in my mind,
I still smell his scent.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

Love,

Jess

Poof.

My friends keep dying.

Smattered between the 50% off holiday spam emails, are updates from caregivers telling me about loss after loss. Then the upside, the lucky ones if you can call us that, they're coming to me with notices of recurrences, and declines, and paralyzations, and sadness. It's surgeries, and radiation, with chemo complaints. It's all heavy. It's always heavy.

So much sadness.

I am not a timely communicator anymore. I've come to dread my phone, and my computer. I hesitate to connect. I'm a conduit for information, this blog, but it's not without an obvious toll.

Thank you for being patient with my lack of responses to emails, to texts, and unfortunately, I don't see an improvement in my behavior, for clear reasons. I don't want to get swallowed by the sadness, so I must protect myself. That means cutting away on many occasions. Or for long periods of time. And it often means everyone, not just cancer related.

I was blindsided by this diagnosis, and have managed because I've methodically taken one step after the other. I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just doing the best that I can, in the situation I'm in. I have zero capability to disconnect, or compartmentalize. I just don't have that talent. And for a girl lacking in the department, this muddled, cancer vortex, can completely disintegrate the heart at the soul of the girl.

I want to know what's going on with my friends, I want to fix it all, I want the hurt to go away for everyone. But's not fixable. Not by my hands. So, instead, I grieve like they do, and wish things were different.

Just after Christmas, my longest running brain tumor friend passed away. She and I had the same diagnosis. Even a very similar pathology. The difference? The location of the tumor. I had no idea she was dangerously close to death. And that's what it is in my world. One minute they're here, and the next they're gone. Poof. We're a highly vulnerable bunch.

My friend's lives are sifting through the slats of my fingertips.

I don't write much these days because it would be much the same thing. If I write, I feel, and sometimes, the only thing I want to feel is my love for Dan. And I cling to it tightly. He's my safe place, my lair, my battery charger; my blanket, and my umbrella. He's the halls that reverberate my laughter.

To all of you, to those who will read this, and for those who might not, I love you all. I think about everyone often, I pray for people, and send them love from my heart to theirs. I might not call or text much, or respond even, to your messages, but I love you no less. I'm just doing the best that I can.

So I'll have a good cry for M, and then I will wash my face, put on some layers, and walk that last Christmas gift down to the post office for a tardy mail.

I'm not sure when I'll write again. (Thank you for understanding.)

With love,
Jess

My Biggest Medical Asset

I have something that will help the cancer patient in your life, something that has been helping me for years. Why didn't I think of sharing this sooner? I've eluded to it, even directly recommended it, but I've never included (that I can remember) a true description with photos. I've been sharing this info one-on-one with patients and caregivers, but for whatever reason, it didn't occur to me to officially write something on how I stay organized in the wild wild world of cancer.

Any large accordion style briefcase will do. The more slots, the better.
Spring for heavy duty, this thing will take a beating with the amount of use it will get.

I get copies of every medical record, and I carry this with me to all of my appointments.
I have saved many a headache, and lots of time, during meetings
because I have my own copies of my various pathologies, radiology reports, etc.

This is a mini case that has its own slot in the big case.
It holds every single one of my MRI and F18-Dopa PET scan disks.
I'm able to pull out any disk that I need, in a matter of seconds.

It's astounding how helpful these disks have been in appointments.
It has been common, in my experience, that new doctor appointments often
 do not receive my records in a timely fashion. By carrying all of my document and disks with me,
I don't get held up with delays or partial information from my doctors,
because I'm able to provide the data for review and assessment.

This briefcase has been worth its weight in mom's cookies. Recently, at a new neuro-oncologists's meeting, the doctor even asked what I do for a living. I replied, "This." He responded by saying, "Want a job?" For a woman who has disabilities, who struggles with epilepsy, exhaustion, the uncertainty of surgeries, treatments like radiation and chemo constantly looming - let alone all of the other off-label, technically experimental, medicines - this housebound woman often feels inadequate, less worthy, low functioning, and non-contributing. I struggle with those emotions on a daily basis. To have someone of authority, like a doctor, give me such a beautiful compliment, it was priceless. I'll bet that doctor has no idea how powerful his words were and continue to be.

This briefcase system is brilliant! I was skeptical at first, but it has truly brought me much more insight, and opportunities. Once you set it up, all you have to do is keep it current. It's also a great spot to put new research, and copies of your med lists, etc. If you have something similar, or if you have any ideas to add to the conversation, please comment below. I am where I am today because of tricks from patients/caregivers. I learned about this concept from others, it had never crossed my mind to put my hard copies in a briefcase. I thought my file system was sufficient. But it wasn't. Having all the documents at hand in appointments, or brainstorming sessions, has been paramount.

Why Reinvent the Wheel? Copy This System!

• Call/fax/go to the medical records department and request copies of every single document (and continue to do so for every additional appointment).
• Buy an accordion briefcase and disk case.
• Create an ongoing timeline of medical appointments. 
• Create an ongoing list of medications. While on those drugs, note side effects, etc.
• Do the same thing for supplements, and various treatments you try.
• Print up new copies of updated documents and bring them to appointments.

I had the opportunity to head to San Francisco, to check out the biotech company, Notable Labs in Dec of 2014. While touring the facility, there happened to be a prominent researcher who studies my type of tumor. I was introduced, and he asked me what type of tumor I had. I responded, "Diffuse astrocytoma, would you be interested in reading my pathology?" His eyes grew wide, and stood to reach the printout. When he saw my mutations, and nuances of the tumor pathology, he asked me if I had ever done chemo. Before I could get the word, "No" across my lips, he boomed, "GOOD." This guy wrote some of the most influential papers in my cancer world, and here he was reviewing my medical decisions. That affirmation, was vindicating, and had I not been carrying my pathology report, I wouldn't have received a free, spur of the moment, evaluation (by the guy who coauthored a paper on hypermutations in LGG). You never know who you're going to run into. Be prepared.

I am forever grateful to those who turned me on to the idea. I hope that their kindness lives on, through me, and helps you.

We All Need A Wizard

Dang it, why are there so many cool people out there? I just finished an interview with Refinery29, about the TV show, My Last Days. Yes, that is the horrible name chosen to document six different people diagnosed with a terminal illness, one of which is my story. It makes my body retch to even type it. I physically hate the title, with a palpable rancor, but I understand they're trying to gain the biggest viewing potential, and that potential could help people. It's all about pulling people in, about shock value. It's the world we live in. I just don't believe I'm in my last days. I don't describe myself as terminal, although that's exactly what I've been told. That I will die of this. But I know so much more than I used to. I know that a cancer diagnosis is a hopscotch of jumps, just to find a new treatment to outlive each phase. There are no guarantees in life, and that means we don't know what our life has in store, for example, when we will die.

So, anyway, the production company set us up with a public relations agency that's helping us understand the marketing/promotion process which includes doing an interview or two. Back to my point, I was partnered with one of the PR peeps, and she is a true wizard - one of those spirits that you instantly connect with. The Refinery29 interview this morning held the typical questions, When were you diagnosed? How has this impacted your life? My wizard had addressed all of us subjects in a recent conference call and one specific point resonated with me. I started thinking about what I want my message to be. If I can sum up my goal in discussing my cancer journey, what is my ultimate point? And in a conversation with my wizard, I finally figured it out.

Some people have to talk things out to solve their problems, others need quiet solitude. I tend to need to write. And prompting really helps. So, in talking to my wizard, I evolved. And that is what's really cool about people. Those folks that encourage, and engage, and spur us to harness our passion. And after free writing the email below, errors and all, I realized, in the most concise form as of yet, my true goal.

Good morning [Wizard]! Sorry for the delay.

I would love your input on this interview. I'm excited for this opportunity, but it definitely has me thinking about what I want to get across. And it's not as simple as I thought it would be. The message on my blog is about people taking control of their health, that we as patients are so much more - we're medical consumers. That we have control over the doctors and medical centers that we choose and that we deserve respect. That doctors are not rated equal, that not all centers can offer the same treatments. That you have to protect yourself, and advocate for your rights. That no one has more of a vested interested in their health then you. To not let anyone dictate when you are out of options, when you're going to die. I have no idea how the show will be edited, what they will focus on after several days of filming, my fear is that it will be more about my husband and my love story, which is glorious and magical, and unique, but I want to help people protect themselves. In 1970 1 in 30 would be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetimes, now in 2012 it is 1 in 3 for women and 1 in 2 for men. And survival rates are still dismal for most cancers. We have to prepare ourselves to be independent thinkers. Sometimes we need to hear that it's okay to ask tough questions, demand the best care, to not be afraid to ask more of our doctors. I'm not as interested in my own story, but maybe that's just because I'm so used to it.

Just writing this has helped me find my own direction, what I'm really passionate about. God, the things I've learned. I wish I could help people more. Just even the fact that when I don't understand test results, and my doctor's explanation isn't enough (as they are not trained in medical readings of scans), I will cyber-stalk the name on the report of a scan and cold contact them to get more answers on my scans. And the medical readers are always incredibly gracious, and I get better explanations of what's going on in my body. Or I'll research a new treatment, and again find the email address of the head researcher and cold contact them with questions about dosing, or side effects. Most of the time I get responses and enter in wonderful conversations. I then gain more resources as the researchers become colleagues, I can ask them further questions about related research. Sometimes I never hear back, and that's okay too - but I figure, what will it hurt? Might as well give it a shot.

I dream of a day when patients are treated with respect, not pitted, not talked down to, that we start to get treated like customers, because we are. We are paying customers with our medical, whether it's out of pocket, or paid for by our insurance. We should have more control.

Okay, that was one hell of a diatribe, and that was me trying to be minimal. Sometimes patients just need to hear that it's okay to question, to demand more, to realize that we're getting shoved into boxes with antiquated treatments. That we deserver personalized care based on our specific pathology. Nothing will change until we demand it.

Jess

In talking with others, those souls who provide a safe haven, a pure understanding and curiosity of another's plight, we are able to open further. To share the seed of our truth. And if you're really lucky, they not only nurture what's been planted, they rejoice as you flourish. My hope is that by sharing my experiences, the things that I've learned and continue to learn, it will help others find their truth. To not be afraid of the answers, of going out on a limb to find their best health.

I continue to be blessed by people that pop into my life, making everything I do more fun, more authentic, and I cherish them.

I feel more connected to others every day, and in that, I feel more alive.

From our episode on My Last Days

In All The B's

*Written somewhere over the midwest, as I flew home from NYC late last night.*

I never anticipated growing up. I mean, who does, or we would choose to wear sunscreen at age 4, and I've never seen a child apply SPF by choice. When you get this crazy diagnosis it's like living in an alternative universe; you're instantly catapulted into the raw threads of life. You're 29 and 99, all at once, wondering where your life went.

My favorite part of cancer is that there's people whom I've fallen in love with. They're kind, they're gracious, they're real, and explosively smart. They're honest, we quip, tease, and I can't believe that somehow my life collided with theirs. I know that I would have crossed paths with other people in my sliding doors life, and they would have been deep, and knowing, encompassing, challenging, hilarious, so I know you don't have to be a cancer patient, or caregiver, to be "enlightened" - yuck, I don't even like that word in the context. I'm swirled with people of all backgrounds, different histories, and the longer I live, the happier I am - if that's possible. Who would pick cancer? Not me. And I'm not convinced that I needed to get cancer to meet these souls. We could have met when we were in a shared taxi, at a resort, on a hiking trail, in a public bathroom. I mean, come on, you guys know me - a person is just a friend I haven't met yet.

I'm expected to do another brain surgery in Oct, and that was put off from May. I kinda want to point out what a bad girl I am, but it's not that simple. I needed proof to make sure that when they saw into my skull again, for the 4th time, it's necessary. I now know 7 different patients who had brain surgeries for recurrence, and it was in fact necrosis, inflammation, or slowly growing scar tissue. Crazy!! No spank you. (Granted, over the past several years, I've probably talked to hundreds of patients and caregivers - so it's not exactly common.)

I should have already gone under the knife, and I know from experience that I should be panicked; I could have already lost my crap. But you know what, we will die when we die. Ya, sure, duh, if you love those around you, you don't want to let go, and I don't know what has changed, why I'm chill, but who cares, all I know is that I will live my life not in fear. And more than ever, I'm not focusing on what I do not have. We are out of treatment money, yet I have never been more at peace. How weird! I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe I won't even look at any horses.

I'm literally flying home from NYC as I type, no treatment rendered. A risk from international treatment issues. My point is that I was listening to a couple (just a few) survivors complaining about the fact that we did not get our most recent treatment on time. Not all, but several, were pissed because they had vacations scheduled. Weeks off. Do they not see the projects we drive by on our way to the clinic? Every time I blow through South Jamaica, Queens, on my way to and from treatment, I think about all those apartments, those high rises. Statistically, there are people in the projects that I pass and I doubt they're getting any cancer care, in fact any medical care, and when I hear those complaints I'm floored. It's not my role to teach people, to change others, but man is it eye opening. Fuck you guys, seriously, what does it take for people to realize how gifted we are? I'm not saying we can't complain about circumstances in life, but know your audience. Put things in perspective.

We are the privileged. Yes, my treatment was delayed by several days. No I wasn't able to stay or come back. Everything is a give and take. 

Am I scared? Bheh. No. Yes. Sure, but not really. My fear is to leave Danny. I'm convinced that if I die before him, I'll haunt him in the bees, the butterflies, the bats, the butterscotch candy he sucks on. In the burkenstocks the person next to him is wearing. He will see me in the laminate countertop on the ferries as he heads back to our home island. In the whip of the wind against his face as he gets into his truck for work in the morning. He'll see a red summer dress and think about my silliness. Is silliness even enough to accurately describe? He'll see a goober dancing so ridiculously in the grocery store that I hope he'll dance with them to not leave them hanging. 

But worse would be if he left me. That would be unbearable.

See, I have it easy. :)

A photo from my First Descents kayaking & camping trip earlier this week.
No need for a filter, life is stunning as is.

Grit: The Best Four Letter Word

A girlfriend just introduced me to the concept of "grit". I knew the word well, although in my family it's termed sticktoitiveness, what I didn't know is that a curious woman is researching it. Angela Lee Duckworth has evolved into a scientist (she was corporate, then became a teacher, then went back to school to become a psychologist), and her work focuses on determining what is "grit". She did an amazing Ted Talk, sharing what she had learned, and at that time she didn't know if grit could be taught. Here's the cool part, one day, probably not too long after her Talk aired, Coach Carroll happened to turn on the tv to the Ted Talks, and listened to Angela. The subject so moved him, especially the part where she wasn't sure how to transfer or teach grit, that he immediately got in contact with her.

It was fateful that Coach caught Angela's Ted Talk (of all the days to turn on a Ted Talk, and for all the TT's out there, it had to be this one), but it was grit, that drove him to reach out. See, Coach has been living a gritty life, full of purpose, and drive. With strength, and humility, and he's been teaching it. 

So tonight, my girlfriend invited us to attend the Town Hall Meeting at Seattle University to listen to Angela and Coach talk about what it means to have grit, how you can foster it in yourselves, how we can nurture it in our children, and in those around us. And good God it was powerful. And it was just what I needed. 

You see, even though I'm not convinced I'm dealing with a recurrence, I still have cried quite a bit about this turn of events. At first, I thought to myself, I can't possibly handle a fourth brain surgery. Not all that pain again, not with the danger of my complications, the blood clot and dura mater hardening, the risk of dying. What if I lose my language or mobility like I did? The months of speech and physical therapy, my God, I can't go through that a second time, I don't have the energy. As those fears swooped in, I realized, I'm not really scared of a theoretical surgery, I'm bawling because of the freaking trauma I've endured. It was residual emotional pain that rides the waves of those memories. It's powerful, and traumatic. 

Listening to that Town Hall Meeting was moving. It was catalytic. It was comforting to hear that you can't lose grit, you may not always be in touch with it, but you can't lose it. And if you're gritty, that doesn't mean you don't need encouragement, or guidance, or best of all, coaching. Having grit doesn't mean you're infallible, that you have everything figured out, instead it means that when you get bumped, you don't let it deter you. That you continuously rise up to the challenges placed in your path. 

What I love about grit, is this concept that we can all be great. We can be gritty with our jobs, with our dreams and our daily lives, and for me it's especially true for cancer. It's about being passionate, about educating yourself, learning from your mistakes and evolving. It's connecting and absolutely never giving up - even when you're beaten, and exhausted, sad or scared. 

I like to think I have grit, but lately I had lost touch with Her. I learned tonight that even if you feel lost, grit can not escape you. That we all need coaching, support, and unconditional love, in order to truly be our greatest selves.

I think it's impossible to be your best self without learning from others. I have learned grit from all of you. You've helped support me in all ways, and that is why I am still here, why I've been successful thus far. It's easier to get back up when you have a hundred people reaching their hands down to you.

Today, as I drove to the gym, I started sobbing. I sat in my car for a few minutes, pulled myself together, then went in and worked out. Then I walked back to my car and before my door was even shut, I started sobbing again. I was embassed that it even happened, frustrated that I was still this emotional about everything. Then, tonight, while I was listening to Coach, and Angela, I realized that grit is in the every day. Grit is determination, and heart, along with effort, and perseverance. And, today, although sad, I refused to be defeated. So I guess Grit never left me, I just needed to pay attention to her.

Angela Lee Duckworth has written the book Grit, and also has a fabulous Ted Talk that you can watch here:

Don't Fear Germs

I'm miserable. But I'm excited.

I've had a temperature for a few days. At first, I just thought it was weird how much my body was hurting. My bones, every single bone in my body was full of needles, and I joked with Dan that maybe I had contracted meningitis. (I love to throw out the impossible and laugh.)

Looking back I had been noticing for the past few weeks a pain in my lungs. A burning, hot, achey sensation that I'm not used to. On Saturday, after I had written my last blog post about my lack of exercise, I became inspired and went to the gym, punched 5k in on the treadmill, and went to town. My goal was to finish the one person race in under 30 minutes. It was a little hard with the burning in my lungs, but I was able to complete it in 29:17 so I felt amazing. I did it!! Then I proceed to hack a lung. The weird part is that the stuff in my lungs isn't getting loose so the coughing didn't last.

The weird thing is that I've been feeling hot for the last week, and achy. But I always find a way to reason it out.

This brings me to yesterday. Finally, so miserable that I couldn't move, so miserable that it was hard to walk, it occurred to me that I should check my temperature. And sure enough, 104 was hitting heavy. When I saw that I had a fever I was thrilled. I leaned over and high fived Dan. Weird right?! But it isn't weird. I had read a few months ago that when you get a fever it stimulates your immune system, including the production and release of t-cells which also happen to love to eat cancer cells.

There are several cases documented of people who get fevers and it causes a regression of their cancers.

Once I learned the fever thing, several months ago, I have been trying to catch germs when people are sick. A long time ago I read a retrospective study about people with glioma. It showed that those who get diagnosed with glioma were described as people who stated they never usually got sick or had broken bones. I thought that was interesting, and I easily fell into that group. So now, I'm trying to rectify it by purposefully enhancing my immune system by putting myself in positions where I can snag a fever. Lucky for me, my nephew is practically always sick and a few weeks ago the sweet little bugger was flaming hot, and coughing. I took deep breaths around him, and hoped for the best, even sipping on a drink he had. I did it discretely. Now, maybe I'm just crazy, but I literally never get sick. I haven't had fever since September of 2012. I specifically remember it because it was right before the most recent brain surgery and I was worried it would interfere with the procedure.

So here I am, chilling with a 100 degree temp, and although achy and physically pretty miserable, my mind is partying. I did it! I earned a temperature and as those pins and needles ravage my body, I imagine my t-cells and cytokines swimming around in my body looking for foreign invaders of bacteria, and viruses, and tumor cells! I will not take aspirin to lower my fever, I will just ride it out. And to explain my reasoning, I sent some articles to my parents and Dan so that they would understand where I'm coming from. When I talked to my mom this morning she was impressed and agreed that she would reevaluate how she handles a fever too.

A fever is a wonderful response, it's like a free housekeeper.

It looks like we've been trying to stop the fevers, when actually that is a detriment to our immune system. This is great to know! Especially if you have kids. There is a lot of information out there showing that people that grow up with fevers (as opposed to people like me who usually never get infected) have a much less probability of getting a malignancy later. Note to self - try to ride it out, but monitor any significant changes.

Anyway, I'm still a little delirious and I don't know what I'm leaving out on here, but hopefully you can get the picture and do a little research on your own.

It's miserable riding it out, I'll admit, but I'm excited about my immune response, so I'll smile through the pain.

Here's a great article from Nursing Times discussing the benefits of not giving patients paracetamo for fever. The next article is a few cases of spontaneous remission after fever. It's fascinating. There are also all kinds of research studies that you can look up online. If you're really curious, look into William Coley's treatments in the 1800's. I hope this random post helps people become less fearful of germs, and viruses and bacteria. Because there is so much that we don't know. Now, I may still be completely insane, and I may be completely off base to want germs, and to initiate fever, but heck - why would doctors try to imitate hyperthermia for cancer patients all over the world as a treatment? (It's a widely accepted form of treatment all over Asia and Europe.) There's something about this concept, and I just got my fever treatment for free! I do love a good deal. :)

Nursing Times (oh crap - they allowed me to read the article once but is now restricted to members)
http://www.nursingtimes.net/does-giving-paracetamol-to-lower-raised-temperature-interfere-with-the-bodys-natural-defence-response-to-infection/5010217.fullarticle

Fever, Cancer Incidence and Spontaneous Remissions 

https://www.samueliinstitute.org/File%20Library/Knowledge%20Center/Publications/meuroimmunmod.pdf 

Immunity over inability: The spontaneous regression of cancer

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3312698/

Fever Therapy Revisited

http://www.nature.com/bjc/journal/v92/n3/full/6602386a.html

Impending MRI Impending Life

I don't want to share this. I don't want to say it. I hate that I have to release, but the truth is that I can't handle my feelings. I have best friends, and I know that they would do anything for me. They know that I hurt, but they don't know my pain because I can't tell anyone, not even them. I've never told anyone how I badly I hurt. The pain of this, the diagnosis, the hamster wheel I live on. I give pieces to Dan, to my mom, to my dad, but if I gave any one person my whole sadness, it would be the meanest gift, and I refuse. Yet here I am, I can't stand it anymore. But it's a choice to read; close the window if it's too much.

I would rather cry alone, than burden my friends. I would rather hurt, and sob, by myself, because my friends have their own lives. No one's life is easy. It has taken me years to understand that, but I get it now. I'm a ghost that is here, but that doesn't live. People see me, or my hologram, but they don't know me. I just float.

I was meant to be a mother. I was meant to be a mom. What is my life without that? I found the most kind, handsome, generous, thoughtful, fantastic, man, but he always expected a family too. But now he worries about me. ME. He should have kids by now, he should have that beautiful love from his own children, that sticky snot filled, accidental wet bed, picky eating life, and I can't give that to him. And what is a life without children? Seriously, to those of you who read this, can you imagine your life without your kids? 

That is the life I live every day, that deep sadness. A life where I try to trick myself into happiness. "Hooray, I'm alive." And yes, of course, I should be happy that I'm alive, but what is this? I'm helping other people function in their own families. I'm helping mothers and fathers, born and unborn, and I have become this au pair for cancer patients, for cancer families, yet here I am, unable to have my own life. I hang on the edge of despair, worrying about my cancer friends, but I need to take care of myself and I hate that I can't compartmentalize. But I can't. So I just live sad. I live on anti-anxiety pills. I wonder how I'm even supposed to help because I'm nothing special, just a talker. I'm a not a specialist. I'm not a doctor. 

I've devoted myself so fully to help others, but I need to start focusing on what it means to be 35, without children, barely able to pay for our cancer treatments. I am an educated woman, with degrees, but I bought into what the doctors said about the fact that I would die immanently. So I've been in a mad dash to help others survive, but how am I going to live long term with my treatment responsibilities? I can't just take care of everyone else. And, how do I live my own life? And how do I make Danny's dreams come true? I feel so responsible. I feel overwhelmed. I feel sad. And I wonder what the point of this life is. I have watched others die for various reasons and its all confusing and messed up and it had nothing to do with working hard, or being a good person. I am not here right now because I'm somehow significantly better than anyone else on earth. 

So I just do my best. But what do you do when you know you can't give your husband children. That you've just isolated him. Danny should not be an old man without a family. Without children. Without that special, magical love. So yes, I am alive. I'm alive longer than I technically should have been, but, is this the life I would want for him? Never.

Here I am being grossly honest, and confused. What shall I do with my life? What will I be if not a mother? My heart breaks every day. I cry every day, whether its internal or literal. The worst thing is making others feel uncomfortable, so I try to hide it, dsguise my pain.

But it's the truth. And it hurts me to be real, but I will know in two weeks if my brain tumor is growing again or not, and sometimes I wonder, when I feel this despair, will it really matter? In the sliding door of life, what would be best for Dan?

The Carrolls meet THE Carroll

I've been up since 4:00 am and it's all because of a seizure. I've had a seizure in my sleep before (according to Danny - I don't remember it), but on September 11th, just a few days ago, just at the same time as the anniversary of the twin towers collapsing, I was jolted out of bed, screaming to Danny that I was having a seizure. He jumped into action, knowing fully what to do, but I couldn't stop myself from screaming, "Water, pills, water, pills, water, pills, hurry, hurry!!!" It was like I was in a trance. A trance where you can't feel or move your right side. A trance where you have no control over your body, or your mind. It was powerful, but not a grand mal. My whole right side, from the tip of my toes to my cranium was tingling and throbbing. I was paralyzed, even unable to drink on my own. Danny held a glass to my mouth as water sloshed all over my face and neck, soaking our mattress. When the seizure subsided, I couldn't talk or think or make sense of what had just happened. So here I sit in the dark while most people sleep. I don't sleep because I'm afraid to. I don't know how long this fear will last, and I know it will abate, but I wonder if this new experience will stick with me forever. Will I always have a deep-rooted fear of a sleep seizure? Is this going to haunt my dreams, nestle into my subconscious?

Ever since I was diagnosed I've been afraid to miss anything. I want to soak up life, to enjoy every moment. But sleep is paramount too. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about this new found issue. I live life big. I laugh and jump and dance (albeit ridiculously), but I'm fearful too. I may be the happiest yet most terrified person on Earth. I'm scared every single day that the mass in my brain will grow. I'm scared every single day that I may be one of the ones who die young and I won't be able to stop it. I'm scared every single day I'm eating the wrong thing, drinking the wrong thing, putting the wrong product on my body (the toxins), that I'm too near the wifi, that our water has too much crap in it, that I'm not exercising enough or that I'm exercising too much. But what permeates the most in each moment is that I'm scared every single day that I will have a seizure. And now, to add to the list, I'm scared that I'm going to be woken up mid-seizure. It's like waking up to the fire alarm, but it's not a drill, there's a literal fire in your brain, and it's surging through your body. And when it's over, you're ravaged. You're wiped. You're almost ruined, but you know you have to rebuild. And with any disaster, it's the aftermath that takes the most work.

The irony of everything is that I was jolted out of bed with that nasty seizure on the morning I was to go to a Seahawks practice. The day I was going to meet coach Pete Carroll. Dan was temped to cancel because I wasn't making sense and my face was droopy, but I begged, and I pleaded, and he tilted his head, squinting, and said okay. The unfortunate part is that one major side effect of my seizures (although I'll bet it's common with many) is memory loss for about 24-36 hours. So, being the stubborn cuss that I am, not wanting to miss out on the opportunity, or wait one more day to meet Coach, that I will have to work very hard to remember our special time at the Seahawks practice. The whole day was surreal. I shook hands with Bobby Wagner. (What? Yep, that happened. He may be my new favorite.) I watched Beast Mode get stretched out right in front of me. He was talking - I saw it. I watched Sherman bounce around from crew to crew. I noticed Russell working on the QB stuff, I could see the smoke drafting from his ears with the laser focus. I chatted with the Seahawks crew, and laughed. I tried to push one of the things that the linemen push, the metal things with the pads that simulate the opponents, and I'm pretty sure I moved it a millimeter. When the practice was over we talked with Coach which was awesome! There's an amazing familial vibe, a camaraderie. Everyone was jovial, but dialed in. I joked about how I wanted so badly to run out there and jump in, to race anyone who was willing, but of course I stayed on the sidelines. We were the only onlookers that weren't part of the team or media. It felt crazy, and profound. I have a deep respect and love for the way that Coach Carroll handles the sport, the players, and life. He practices with the players, running around, sweating like the rest of them. He believes everyone has the chance at greatness, his motto, "Always compete."

The older I get, and especially since I was diagnosed, I don't enjoy competing as much with others (maybe it's because with cancer, we can't all win and it's not our fault - it's often out of our control), but my internal competitiveness has never gone away. It's what helped me strive to learn the alphabet, and talk, and read, and write again. It's how I was able to start walking as soon as possible, aided by Dan, and my friends and family. I always knew I could do better, that I could do more. And I still look to challenge myself (even if it turns into a hysterical near disaster like the recent triathlon). If life was a drink I would gorge myself, while trying to jumprope and cook dinner and garden and read a book and run in circles. I want to do it all as much as I can. But in order to recover from all that madness first, I'll have to get over my seizure fears, and just get some sleep.

The lair.

Wait, what's that? Oh ya, we're here with Pete. 

An O'Carroll family photo. 

My, I can't believe I'm at his press conference face. As he walked away, he jokingly said, "And any further questions to you Dan and Jess?" Ha! Good one Coach. Yep, Pete Carroll knows our names.

The TSA checking the busses, and gear so that the team can just roll up to the plane. They were flying out to St. Luis when we rapped up. Go Hawks!

Germany Again? Excellent!

I'm home; I am resting after flying out to NYC for treatment (yep, what a week). I was able to get my immunotherapy shot, but was also informed that I am dangerously low on my dendritic cells (the part of the white blood cells that boost the immune system and that they use for my treatment). That means I need to head to Germany to engage in an another leukaphresis where they separate my white and red blood cells for harvest. I emailed the clinic just to verify, hoping I could squeak out a few more months before travel, but was graciously informed that it's best to head to Germany ASAP. So, although Dan took off some time for filming, and a few other random days this month, we are hoping that he can take off more time in the next couple of weeks so that he can accompany me for treatment. I kind of see it like a super sexy medical honeymoon. Because there's nothing sexier than life, am I right!?

I'm still on cloud nine from the surprise wedding, and the whirl of my awkward self, filming to share our story. A couple of people have thought I was crazy for being filmed, but I see it as an honor. Our journey has been loud (if you read the blog anyway). It has been hard, and fun, and beautiful, and unexpected, but most of all, it has been an example of following our hearts, of being strong, and true. When we were approached for filming I was hesitant for a little bit, then I thought of the good we could do by sharing what we've gone through. When you get diagnosed with cancer it's like being thrown into a burning ring of fire, and sometimes you can find a way out of the dangerous maze, and sometimes you can't. And it's terrifying. If I wouldn't have explored more than my original option of the neurosurgeon in Wenatchee ("We will put you to sleep and scoop it out."), it is probable that I'd be dead right now - because of the blood clot and dura mater hardening, not to mention the infiltrating nature of the tumor that grew fingers throughout my healthy brain. So much of my healthy brain would be missing - like the controls for my language, and the controls for my physical body. If we wouldn't have researched, and been strategic, and worked tirelessly, it's probable that I wouldn't be alive, or I would be a fraction of the woman I am now.

Why am I alive right now? Why am I not paralyzed any longer on my right side? Why can I read and write and walk and run and research, when originally I couldn't? Why have I been able to overcome so much? Because I am meant to help. I am meant to be a friend to others, to help people navigate and do their best to survive. It is not easy; it's heart breaking. I just received a text today from a brain tumor friend who just found out he is dealing with his second recurrence in less than two years. I want to fix it, but I can't. What I can do is provide solace, and information, and support, and I'm happy to do it. If only I had more power. But the power that I DO have is a voice, and I will broadcast that voice as much as I can to provide information (research, treatments, hope). This cancer life has been a gift of opening my world to amazing people. To immeasurable love and kindness, and at the same time it rips my heart in half. It's bloody and painful, and heart wrenching.

I share my story with the hope that people realize we have choices. That they listen to their hearts, to their intuitions. I hope that people see that in so many things in life we are placed in boxes, on assembly lines (be it treatments, or work, or relationships) but we also have control. That it may be hard, but we can break molds, and surprise ourselves with our own strength.

A Film Crew?

Hey Guys! Thank you for all of the birthday comments, texts, and emails, and phone calls, and Facebook messages! You guys all make me feel deeply loved.

On my birthday Dan surprised me by taking me on a bike ride along the Burke Gilman, which I have run but never rode. Riding bikes on the BG is awesome! I's mostly flat and you can literally ride for miles and miles. It's stunning.

But that's not even the biggest news. One part of the big news is that I am flying back to New York next week, the 19th, for an attempt at another immunotherapy shot. It should be fine though, I'm expecting smooth sailing so to speak. 

The next part is that in 24 hours or so, SoulPancake a media/production company ("We create stuff that matters. That opens your heart. That makes you think. Our mission is to help you and your audience figure out what it means to be human and feel damn good doing it. Our brain batter of art, culture, science, philosophy, spirituality, and humor is designed to get people talking, sharing, and engaging with this crazy, exciting, creative journey that is life."), along with WayFarer Entertainment, is sending out a crew to film Danny and I for an episode of a series about people who get diagnosed with cancer. It's kinda crazy, and a huge honor to get to share what we've gone through, and share how we live our lives. My hope is that we can make others feel more comfortable about what they're going through, or have experienced. And that goes for people who have been diagnosed with cancer, and those who haven't. 

We all have hard things that pop up in life, and personal stories always help me, so I'm hoping to inspire others and put them at ease. People often ask me how I've been able to do what I've done (defy odds, find new opportunities health wise to live longer, relearn talking, reading, and moving my body) and all I can think of is how important it has been to be stubborn/strong willed, curious, passionate, easily inspired, and easy to laugh. That combo has been a saving grace. I always say this because there are no guarantees, but this type of cancer, the infiltrating astrocytoma is invasive and virtually impossible to survive solely by conventional methods. And since I'm not as hard core as I once was, there is always the possibility that the cancer is growing inside me. It's a very real, very scary reality. But if I just panic and miss the beauty in life, constantly living in complete fear, then what was the point in life? What was the point of me being on Earth? So I try to keep things in perspective. I try to maintain a balance between enjoying life and maintaining my health; constantly oscillating between two worlds. Sometimes they overlap, but often times it is an exercise in control and depravation. 

I'm nervous for the film crew, but also excited. It's very surreal, and terrifying letting people come into your life, your home, to see exactly who you are, your mannerisms, your quirks. Clearly I've been doing it for awhile, but it's different when I'm doing the blog. With the blog, I have complete control over editing on what I choose to share in my life. In this situation, I don't. I'm also not a fan of watching myself on video (hence the lack of video blogs). I'm an emoter, a sharer, an open book, but I tend to express myself verbally with the written word. I keep reminding myself that this is only through Sunday, and after that it will all be over. So I need to be in the moment, and have fun and enjoy the oddity that will be getting filmed. I will blink and it will be over. But what will last will the memories, and the documentation of when the show airs. That will be a beautiful treasure.

Podcast Interview "Living With..."

I had the honor of being interviewed for the podcast, "Living With..." recently. Here is what this iTunes channel is all about (in Tom's own words): 

Description

Living With… is about those living with cancer and other diseases or challenges. It's a community of inspirational people who got some bad news, were dealt a terrible hand, a horrible diagnosis, which changed their lives forever. I have Myelodysplastic Syndrome (MDS), a progressive bone marrow disease which robs the body of its ability to produce blood cells and fight infection. For some reason the body stops making proper blood cells, leaving the body weak and vulnerable. Treatments include blood transfusions, drugs to boost blood cell production, and ultimately bone marrow transplant. My levels have declined considerably. I take drugs to keep my levels from declining even more, but no one knows how long they will work. I get routine blood tests to monitor my levels. I used to be an avid runner and have run several 5k, 10k, half & full marathons. I suffer from lack of energy and fatigue, but I’m able to work and do most things if I pace myself. Now, I am a walker, but I haven’t given up. I miss running, but I’m alive! The Living With Podcast is my way of bringing you interviews with inspirational people who are living with cancer, illness, and other challenges. I feel we can learn a lot from them, be inspired by them and ultimately live more meaningful and fulfilling lives. I hope you will listen to the podcast and will be entertained and inspired!

Here is my interview: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/living-with...episode-023/id975036684?i=347582559&mt=2

It's a little bit long because, hey, it's me - I was born talking - but you could listen to some, go take care of some stuff, then come back, etc. I had a blast talking with Tom, and it was really fun to listen to his other podcasts and hear other people's stories. It is a privilege to share my story with others. It is a privilege that I am here on this earth. I am humbled that Tom found my story to be one that would be a benefit to the community. 

The Post-Traumatic Stress of Cancer

As you guys can tell, I haven't been posting much. I've been trying to soak up as much life as possible. There's so much to see and do and experience. Half the time it's just around my own neighborhood, but also, since I've completed the years of Chlorotoxin, I'm free to eat and drink whenever I want. I don't have to administer medicine every four hours, and it's freeing. It's been weird, and a daze and a miracle and a gift. To feel human again, and "normal".

It took a few weeks to absorb it. I kept withholding food and water because the treatment protocol had been ingrained into my system. To be able to drink water whenever I want, all day every day, has been the most exciting thing. It's not that the treatment protocol was so hard, necessarily, but to go without water for four to five hours a day when dehydration triggers seizures has certainly been a challenge over the past two years. It was debilitating. The only thing that I fear more than a seizure is a recurrence, just to put it in perspective.

Honestly, I'm literally terrified every second of every day. I'm able to shove it off and distract myself and breathe and align myself with gratitude, but that when the night falls, when silence creeps across the threshold, my mind gets louder and louder. The cracks in my brain, the hot spots, the unique headaches, start talking. They nasally laugh and tell me in their jackal voices that I can think I'm winning, but they know something I don't. They scoff and trip my walking mind. They tell me I'm dying, that everyone with this cancer dies.

So I don't sleep well. I read my books, my lids drag down. I turn off the lamp, I sigh that deep sigh, and I start to drift. And just between thoughts and fantasy, my body jerks and tenses. My pores prickle and sweat. My heart races, my head spins with delirium. I think of everything wrong that I've eaten, every supplement I forgot to take that day. I kick myself for not exercising, for not taking my care more seriously. Because the truth is that I'm not as diligent as I used to be. My diet is not on point, I am not the machine I once was. I want to live, but at the same time I want to LIVE.

I don't think I'm alone in the late night self loathing. I don't think I'm alone in the late night overthinking. I wish it was something I could turn off, and boy do I try, but it's in my psyche. It is who I was from the time I was in the womb. It's in my core, and as much as I meditate, as much has I repeat my mantra, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." It's not enough, this doubt, this overactive mind is on a cellular level.

So I live, and I ride my bike, and go for walks with my walking group. I garden, and laugh with friends, and play with our dog, and snuggle with my cat. I paint, and I continue to be awe of the fortune of my life, my health. But deep down, I continue to be scared. My body has memories of pain, a deep sadness, the fear of death, the throwback of when I was diagnosed, when I was awake and they were cutting into my brain. The flashbacks to the recovery, relearning how to read and use a knife. I feel great, I love my life, but I have post-traumatic stress that I live with, and can't seem to fix. And the fear is that I don't know if I ever will.

Thank you to the sweetheart who anonymously commented on the blog on the 4th of July weekend wishing us a wonderful holiday. It made me feel incredibly special. We went up to Friday Harbor our hometown to spend time with friends and family. It was magical. We even got out on a friend's boat to do some fishing and were surrounded by a pod of Orca whales. It is not lost on me that I was raised on a piece of heaven. Friday Harbor is a panacea to my soul.

Eat Wild. Eat Well.

Who do you want to be? What matters to you? What do you want to accomplish in life?

These are questions typically reserved for high school juniors or seniors, but they don't have to be. It's a question I routinely ask myself, and with time, the answer continuously evolves. But at the core, the basis of who I want to be, what matters, and what I want to accomplish is very concrete, but broad, and has no end date. I want to be a good steward of this awe inspiring Earth. I want to embody a kind heart that loves deeply. I want to learn about native plants mostly edible, but also non-edible. I want to learn about true nutrition from wild plants, how to help sustain Dan and I through gardening. How to harness local resources like grey water systems, or rain barrel water retention systems. To work toward independence. I dabble in making things from scratch, down to grinding the nuts into flour for baking. I recently made kefir from raw goat milk. I want to see how things work. I want to recognize that all foods are not created equal. That animals, especially the ones who feed us, are living creatures that deserve kind lives, not to be jailed in tight quarters with broken bones, an entire lifetime of misery. You can't nourish your body, and soul with another living creature's sorrow. You recognize what your body feels like when you're stressed, with all that cortisol surging through your body. Imagine an animal stressed, and depressed for its entire life, then you eat it. The product of the meat is inferior, it's only logical (not to mention the poor animal). There's science to back it up. We're making decisions, and there are consequences. That extra money spent on groceries is the best investment in your health, and your soul. 

This is part of who I am, and what I believe. I believe we're all connected, that the spinach in your smoothie when cut fresh has exponentially more antioxidants than the old stuff in the cooler section at Costco, that's wilted and already rotting. That we're being fleeced into thinking that cheaper products are equal in value. But what is the value of your health?

You don't have to think like me, or agree with what I am saying, but this is what I am recognizing as I evolve. That toxins sprayed on crops ARE a big deal. That we are damaging our water sources, and polluting our bodies, and it's such a shame. We are sold into this belief that we should work hard, climb the corporate ladder, cut costs and find the cheapest products, never miss work, go go go, and we're missing the bigger picture. That life is short. Our Earth is not impervious, or infinite. The toxins we spray on our soil lasts for eons. This is no small problem. In 1970 1 in 30 would be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime. Now it's 1 in 3. We are allowing big corporations to conduct science experiments, and we're the rats. And the government is not protecting us. 

If you die tomorrow will you have been the person you wanted to be? Did you accomplish what really mattered? Do you have children? If the above statistics scare you, consider what it will be in 40 years. Will it be a situation where your children will not only be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime, but even worse battle three different types? It's a real concern. And it should terrify you. Our culture, and our values are askew, and if we don't stop and assess the true crisis, and make adjustments, the issues will just continue to accelerate. 

What can you do? Take a moment and listen to your soul, your inner voice, about what you value, and what you want to accomplish. Then remember that you don't have to take these issues on as life missions, or spend a lot of time trying to move mountains. You can simply speak with your pocketbook. Support causes you believe in. Pay the extra couple of bucks for better food. If that means you don't get the next pair of jeans, who cares. Pick you. Pick your family. As you walk to the register, or to the sweet woman at the farmer's market, with your organic produce, and grassfed chicken breast, you can smile and know that you're protecting yourself the best way you can. 

Maybe I'm lofty, and perhaps even annoying about this, but life is so beautiful, and what you put in, and what you value, gives back tenfold, be it negative or positive.

A brilliant book to get your wheels turning...

Please Forgive Me

Sometimes I wonder what the hell I've done over the (almost) five years. What have I even done? Am I even contributing to society? Am I helping enough? What you guys don't see is that I get so tired. I get these brain flu episodes. I can't explain it; I can't anticipate it. When I don't feel well, when I can't get my brain to unfuzz, I don't blog. I don't complain about it, or write about it very often, because I figure it comes with the territory. I have had three brain surgeries, and with that comes damage of the wiring, of my thoughts. I'm missing healthy brain tissue, tissue that I'm sure the little sensors in my body are still searching for. Anyway, I usually give symptoms a period of time before I panic and post, and now it has been about a month of living in silence. I have been having horrible headaches, but they're only on one side of my head, the side with the tumor. It is just as my original brain tumor headache arrived, it started all over my head, then it shifted and it was only on the side of my brain with the tumor. I could (and can) literally feel the barrier of my midline (the halfway point between the two hemispheres in the brain) stopping the progression of pain. To have this type of headache right now is absolutely terrifying. My next MRI is in April, and I do not want to push it up sooner. If the headaches, and confusion, and exhaustion continue then I will revisit. That may seem different than the usual Jess. I'm known for not putting things off, but there's a fine line between putting things off and not being an alarmist. In the meantime I'll focus more on diet, lowering inflammation, and regular exercise, and meditation, and prayer, and rest.

I'm wondering if a portion of it is stress, these issues, or the majority for that matter. Another thing that I don't tend to write about is that I get contacted daily via email, text, phone, by other friends with cancer, and also several times a day new people find me. Right now two of my closest cancer friends just found further metastasizes. And that was just in the past 24 hours. Those two girls, along with another of my closest friends who also has active stage 4 cancer, need me. And I adore them. I love them. Then I get other people that need help and direction, and I'm happy to do so; those emails are a joy. I want to help people survive, but then I get other emails, so so so many of these emails, of people that don't tell their husbands, their parents, their siblings, their children, that they are battling cancers, and tumors, or diseases, and they come to me for camaraderie, and to vent, and to find a source of support. But the thing is that I am only one person, and I am already exhausted, and scared, and trying to remain healthy. Stack on top of that, my friends whom I adore, whom I want to save, whom I want to cure, whom I want to be around for decades and decades. I want them to be around for a lifetime. And I'm virtually helpless. I'm stuck here. I'm just me. I research for them, I brainstorm, but it's not enough. I want to do more. I want to be there. I want to take it away from them. I want to be the superhero that snags the ticking time bomb of cancer and flies it away at supersonic speeds to another galaxy, returning in the nick of time so that we can all be saved. (Sorry neighbor aliens.)

I want to help everyone. I want to give you strength, but each time I give my strength I have to be replenished too. I can not continuously give. I can not be everyone's rock. From the time I was young I have internalized other people's plights. I was one of those kids who would cry for starving children. When I read your emails, when I hear people's fear, I feel it. I can not live removed. So what I have to say right now is that I am asking those of you who reach out (and as you read this please know that there are tens of people daily, this is not singled at any two or three people) and are carrying the burden in the dark to open up to your friends, and family. Not only will you need that strength and love and support, but also, as my dad recently reminded me, it makes them feel better to be a part of the journey. They appreciate being involved. They want to help us. Of course, you don't have to do anything you don't want, but I guess this is my cry to you, I can not carry everyone else's burden. I can carry a few, but this is not normal stresses. This is life and death, and my friends are a high need group, and in order for me to be a good friend, and be able to handle the reality and research and emotional support to help them, I have to focus and know my limits.

I feel horribly guilty that I can't be everyone's friend, that I can't have relationships with everyone who reaches out. I hear the fear in your voices. I feel what you feel. I want to help. I want to fix. I am so sorry that I can't do it all. I'm so sorry that you're going through this. Even though I'm writing all of this, I hope that you still feel comfortable reaching out if you have direct questions. I really appreciate it when they're short. It's especially the long emails that get me. It takes so long for me to read and think and analyze - it zaps me. I am incredibly capable, but I have limitations, and I have to be able to triage. I can't be attached to my computer and phone all day, it isn't healthy. And the subject matter is so heavy, so dense, so dark.

I'm sorry that I had to post this message. There is nothing more that I want than to help, but I am only one woman. And I'm not trained for this. I'm not built for this. And my heart, which thankfully is quite large (probably big like my huge noggin), is reeling. It is deeply bruised, and hurting for my two First Descents camp friends who have had such horrible news. Fucking cancer.

I'll leave you with this quick video, it's about angiogenesis and cancer. There aren't any great anti-angiogenesis drugs for brain cancer that will cure, but don't forget that food does matter. We can eat things just because we're hungry, or because it makes us feel temporarily better, or we can make our food serve a purpose, to make it count. There are all these little things that we can read up on and learn about to take charge. I'm not trying to imply that diet is enough. I'm only imploring you to get curious, read up, research, Google stuff, and find what empowers you. There are so many times with cancer when we feel helpless, and scared, but there are actions that can help. Never give up. You are capable just within yourself. In any moment you can make choices to change. It's all in you.