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

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.

UCLA Tumor Board Results

Dang it if brain tumor life isn't confusing. At least in my world! I can't be the only one who has these types of yoyo results. I mean, it's better to have differing results than a truly horrible, obvious situation. The ups and downs, though are insane. 

If you don't want to watch the whole video (3 min 44 sec), the short is: tumor is growing, albeit slowly. (Think millimeters.) I believe the two treatments I added in the past two months, are helping - who knows, maybe the tumor had grown more in the interim, and now they're even shrinking it? Who knows! I rule out nothing.

My neurosurgeon at UCLA offered a brain surgery to remove whatever she can, or she said she is "comfortable" waiting 2-3 months for another stealth (pre-op) MRI. I opted for the latter, and agreed that if I had furthering symptoms, I would move up the scan.

Some people might think I'm crazy to push-off brain surgery, since I have a growing tumor in my brain, but there are inherent risks involved. Remember when I had to learn how to walk, talk, read - learn the alphabet again?! I do. We will never know for sure if the decisions that we make are the best ones, but a decision is what we have before us. For now, we try to do the least invasive approach. If that isn't enough, we will evolve as we always have.

It's confusing because the symptoms of my seizures are the same symptoms that tumor growth would cause. The main take away right now is that it's important for me to stay the course on exactly what I'm doing treatment-wise, and perhaps even add a few non-toxic, whole body health boosting things. And I really need to lower my stress levels. They directly cause extra seizures, and that makes diagnosing possible tumor growth, very difficult.

With all that being said, I should go to bed. I have a big day planned with a bunch of friends tomorrow. We're doing a nature hike in an old growth forest. I'm so excited! I'll be sure to hug some trees for all of ya. ;-)

Cancer Convos: Episode 2 Fertility

I have been dragging my feet a little bit on posting Episode 2 of Cancer Convos with Crush & Coconuts, for two reasons:

1. We recorded the episode 45 minutes after a seizure that really wiped me out, so my drugged up and exhausted state is cringeworthy.

2. It's a very personal, very raw video that is clearly difficult for me to open up out. As you know I emote, and share in written form - to expose myself in a video is much more intimidating. There's no way to hide your face, the tone of your voice, the tears.

I don't even remember recording, as I blackout after seizures, usually not remembering anything for at least 24 hours afterward so essentially, I'm watching this new with you. Without further adiau, please enjoy our experiences with fertility as it concerns with cancer.

And as always, if you have anything to add, please post comments so that others can learn from your experience. I always love comments on my blog posts, but I imagine the most beneficial place would be on the YouTube channel episode. Thank you for watching! :)

Reliving the Glory Days

Morning Friends!

Dan and I have our triathlon this weekend. Remember that? Yikes. Have we been training? No, not really. We've ridden our bikes around the block. We've jumped in the sound a couple of times. And we jogged two miles last night. It's almost as if we've forgotten that we're not in our 20's anymore. Fingers crossed for no injuries!

This was all a harebrained idea to relive my glory days, the days before diagnosis. When I was diagnosed in 2010 I had completed two half marathons so far, and I wanted to take it further. In fact, I literally just went back in my emails to dial in this message from two weeks before I was diagnosed:

Megs,

In three weeks I'm off puddle jumping from Iceland, to Sweden, to Poland, to the United Arab Emirates and back. It's a really quick trip though, only about three weeks. I'm really excited! Going to go see the Polish family and then down to the Middle East to see one of my best friends from college - quite the adventure! You're tiny enough, you'd probably fit in my suitcase. :)

The Triathalon is in Lake Chelan, and it's called The Chelan Man and there's a lot of different options. It's on the weekend of July 17th/18th. There are different races on Saturday and on Sunday. I think I want to try the Triathalon Sprint: http://www.chelanman.com/index.php?page_id=302

The Olympic Triathalon looks great too though - just really challenging. Might be really fun to do as a three person relay though - but at the same time I kinda want to try an entire three-leg course. People could stay at my place, or we can camp out on the riverfront at my parent's house - that would be fun!!! Jet skiing to get us into the competitive mood of the race?!?! 

-Jess

As you can imagine, I never did get to take part in Chelan Man in 2010, and the trip was cancelled. My life, from two weeks on, was forever changed. It's bitter sweet to try and compete in this race (although I use the term "compete" lightly), because it reminds me of my old life. My carefree life. That ignorance that allowed me to think that my problems were important. It's going to be fun, and hard. It's supposed to be 97 degrees as a high on race day. Dan is doing it with me, though, and we'll just have a lot of water on hand, and seizure medicine as a given. This will be tricky when sun, dehydration, stress, and heat all trigger seizures, but it's something I feel compelled to do. To live my life and try to get back on track. To be the person I once was, but better. Jess 2.0, new and improved.

I'll post pictures next week, if I survive that is. Ha! Of course I will, I've navigated tougher waters that's for sure.

More Seizure Activity

Damn it. I had a little seizure episode last night. It wasn't a big, aggressive, episode, but still very annoying, and frightful, and frustrating. I'm grateful that I've been able to quell a lot of the seizures, but even though they seem to be rarer and rarer, it's still exhausting. It was such a freaking shame too, I had gone to a comedy show with my girlfriend Christel, and when we sat down we ran into a bunch of girlfriends from Friday Harbor. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, [they] walked into [ours]." The show had me ripping my side in laughter, my face burning with blush from content, and doubled over in pure shock, then I noticed that I couldn't feel my right arm, that it was numb, even though the room was very hot.

The flickering of the big screens all over on the walls at the venue, the loud music and voices, combined with that heat, I felt an aura coming on and made a beeline for the exit. Thankfully Christel & Erin both knew what to do. Within moments I had pills under my tongue, enough ice water to service an international flight, and I was feeling better. We stopped the seizure from progressing, but I was down for the count. My arm eventually started gaining some sensation, but I was walking like a drunken sailor, and felt incredibly weak. Boy do seizures suck. I live in a world where even the most fundamental event of a comedy show can put me into a seizure tailspin. I still don't know how to protect myself completely, from seizures, unless I just stay home all the time.

Now I'm ruined for the day. I have a seizure hangover. My brain feels fried. I'm hazy, and lethargic. Living this life of moderation, limits, structure, analyzation, concern, always trying to keep healthy, keep the tumor at bay, and limit the liability of seizures, has radically changed my daily life, my social life, my career life. 

My brain feels swollen. I can feel the thump thump of blood flow. My eyes are droopy, but I can't sleep.

I realize I should just be resting and not blogging, but I felt like I needed to vent my disappointment and frustration. To not have control over my mind and body is probably the hardest part of my life. It reminds me that I sometimes don't have power - even over the most basic things. I feel disconnected, unable to predict or dictate bodily and mental functions. 

I'm going to try and take the weekend off and rest. We'll see how that goes. For now, I replenish antioxidants, phytocmenics, minerals, vitamins, nutrients, and of course my favorite, healthy fats. 

Out of The Shadows

Ugh, the dread in my body in having/needing to write this post has been weighing on me for quite some time. Like months. How embarrassing! Why can't I be fearless? Why didn't I just start talking about it from the beginning? That way there wouldn't be a buildup. I avoided it because I didn't want to deal with people's opinions. I hate bringing up controversial subjects (unless it's face-to-face where there's an open dialog), and I hate to be judged - which is weird because I have been taking control of my health, no matter the cost, definitely to the chagrin and disapproval of several of my original doctors.

I've been dragging my feet because I don't know where to start. And there are so many details as to what helped me make my decision. I know that I can't include them all because it would be exhausting, and verbose, and complicated. I'm nervous because I feel like I'm not going to be able to really explain myself. Suffice to say that I have joined private groups, and read the research, and talked to, and met with, 40-50 cancer fighters who have shared their private stories about personal cures and cancer stabilization. What is it, you ask? It's hemp oil. Also known as Phoenix Tears, or Rick Simpson Oil. You can also just call it medical marijuana or marijuana extract processed into an oil. There's a lot of names out there, and they're not all exactly the same, but they're pretty similar. I have several cancer friends who are using it in very large doses (1-2 grams a day) with dramatic results, and I have other friends who take it in small amounts and they're still getting results.

Does it work for everyone? Unfortunately not. But, as a person who lives in a legal state, I figured (after researching, and talking to fighters who use it as treatment) I might as well add it to my protocol. You might think I'm crazy, or that it's overkill, since I have now gone two years without tumor growth, but I'm sure you've heard me mention the fact that tumors are crafty little fellas that weasel their way back even during treatments. It's almost as if you're never safe. The moment you think you're golden, it'll rear its' ugly head.

I'm sorry that I'm not going to thoroughly explain the facts of my decision, but I figured at least I would throw it out there and you can research for yourself to decide if it's a legitimate form of cancer treatment, or seizure treatment. Ultimately, I am embarrassed that I was hesitant to share. People are constantly telling me how surprised, and grateful they are about my willingness to open up, but everyone has their limits, including me. I would have been perfectly fine keeping this private. It would have kept me from being judged, which is incredibly appealing, but you know what? This isn't really about me. This is about an amazing seizure and cancer fighting treatment that I think everyone should have access to. (I mean, come on, why else would they be doing cancer clinical trials with it!? It's because there's something legitimate about the plant's properties.)

When I started, I was doing the Rick Simpson protocol. You start with a dose of the oil in the size of a grain of rice three times a day, for four days. Then you double the dosing for the next four days, then you double again and treat for four days, continuing the schedule of increased dosing until you hit a gram per day. I worked up to three grains of rice three times a day. It was awful. I hate feeling high. It made me unable to function. But, it was during the month before the MRI and I was really scared about the scan, so I tried to dose up as fast as I could. What I found was that, although I hated the "high" feeling, it was magic for my anxiety (duh), and stress (duh), and sleep (duh), and seizure activity, and skull pain which is invasive, and constant. I don't really complain about my pain because I feel like dwelling on it exasperates the issue. But it is real, and never used to go away, and the fact that medical marijuana mitigates those issues is amazing to me. It's not a miracle, and it shouldn't even be a surprise because there is tons of literature and research to sustain those claims. It's not just my word. As an aside, the day that I had my seizure, I missed two doses of oil because I wanted to be 100% with my wits about me as I was waiting for the results of my MRI. I wanted to be able to process the information in an objective way in case we needed to make major decisions.

I buy the oil from a co-op that rigorously tests their products, and it comes in a 2:1 ratio of CBD:THC. I currently work with a 48% CBD to 24% THC, but I want a second oil with a 0.3 % THC level because then I can take as much as I want throughout the day (don't forget that the CBD doesn't have psychoactive effects, and it's the major seizure stopper). That's the goal, to be able to dose all day long to prevent seizures. I have since stopped taking it during the day, instead I dose at night, a few hours before bed. Ingesting the oil orally takes three hours to get into my system, although for others it's different. I would still take the higher THC oil, I would just continue to ingest that specific oil before bed to avoid any unwanted side effects.

Here are two wonderful videos that I hope you will take the time to watch. They explain a lot:

I feel crazy saying what I'm saying about medical marijuana. I believed a lot of the negative hype about weed, but as a gardener, researcher, cancer fighter, epileptic, and take charge kind of woman, I have drastically changed my stance on marijuana. I am in awe of it. And I feel like people should have the right to grow and ingest a plant. I realize the complications of teens, and recreational use, and impairment while driving, etc. but I'm getting very sick of people telling cancer patients what they can and can not do with their bodies. We're forced into toxic treatments that don't have acceptable success rates. You guys know me, I follow the Hippocratic Oath of, "First do no harm." Some people debate on whether or not medical marijuana causes harm, but it is not deniable that radiation and chemo are much more destructive than hemp oil. No one has ever died from it. You can't overdose. An overdose of hemp oil is just sleep. That's it.

I have friends in states across the country who are fighting active stage four cancers and they deserve the right to try whatever they need to survive. Period. That is why I am sharing my story about my medical marijuana use. My friends don't deserve to die just because of where they live. They should get to have access to the same life saving treatments that I do. They should have the right to improve their quality of life, to abate their pain, and sleepless nights, and overwhelming anxiety.

I feel like I'm leaving out so much, and I'm very nervous to hit the "post" button. It's scary to put yourself out there to be judged, for people to have opinions about the choices you make in your life. But it is important for me to be an advocate, to step out from the shadows, and be honest about the incredibly wonderful effects that marijuana has had on my life. No one could be more surprised than me. I am exceedingly grateful that I continued my research and was able to keep an open mind so that I could benefit from this amazing plant.


Here are a few teasers, but please do your own research and decide what you think.

Multiple Cancers
"Cannabinoids could provide unquestionable advantages compared to current antitumoural therapies: (1) cannabinoids selectively affect tumour cells more than their nontransformed counterparts that might even be protected from cell death." - http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1617062/

Breast Cancer
"Analyses of the tumors revealed that cannabinoids inhibit cancer cell proliferation, induce cancer cell apoptosis, and impair tumor angiogenesis." - http://www.molecular-cancer.com/content/9/1/196

Brain Cancer
"Results obtained by our group and others during the last decade have shown that THC, the main active component of marijuana, reduces the growth of different types of tumor xenografts including gliomas."- http://mct.aacrjournals.org/content/10/1/90.full

"Both cannabinoids (THC & CBD) can reduce cell numbers by inhibiting cell-cycle progression and cell growth as well as by triggering apoptosis and engaging autophagy (19), and are also antiangiogenic and antimigratory (15). The two compounds have also been combined in a preparation that is currently licensed to treat multiple sclerosis, which is now undergoing trials with glioma." - http://mct.aacrjournals.org/content/early/2014/11/12/1535-7163.MCT-14-0402.full.pdf+html?sid=c0dd7be7-3079-4308-96f2-3393d5e28e62

How do we celebrate?

I never thought I'd feel this way. I never thought that I would use these words, and for good reason. Doctors don't use the term "remission" for brain cancer, because "it always comes back". At least that's what all of my doctors have said (minus my neurosurgeon at UCLA, I haven't heard her speak in absolutes). But today, I feel like I'm in remission, that I'm cancer free. I'm sure I still have cancer cells in my body, like we all do, but something feels different. I feel lifted, and whole, and healed. Does that seem crazy? It feels crazy, but it feels right, like I'm on the correct path with the appropriate protocol.

 
I don't want to jinx myself, so please knock on wood, but for the first time since diagnosis, I feel human. I feel normal. I feel like an epileptic (that may never change), but not a cancer patient. I'm continuing all of my current treatments, but now I'm doing it by choice not out of duty. And I know that this shift alone will do wonders for my psyche.

I never thought that my MRIs would get pushed out to 6 month intervals. It crossed my mind once or twice, but it was like imagining a unicorn. A wonderful thing to smile about, but not a reality. But the world tricked me, see - unicorns DO exist, and I love them! 

I keep thinking about this insane tumor diagnosis and how much it has changed my life. I have gone through so many wild things, like the awake brain surgery, or the hematoma that caused major brain damage, forcing me to relearn everything from using a fork, to learning how to run again, and read again, and regain my vocabulary. There were times when I couldn't even understand concepts. My IQ was ridiculously low. I remember undergoing hours and hours of testing only to be told by one of the top neuropsychologists at University of Washington that I would never recover and read again, that I would never be capable of high level thinking or processing. I remember sitting in that same doctor's office with Dan as we went over the results, as tears streamed down my face. Man how things have changed. Not that I'm that smart, but I'm more than getting by. 

So what do I do now? How do we celebrate?!? For starters, I have decided to start training for a half marathon. I haven't run a half marathon since before I was diagnosed, and have been hesitant to push myself too far because I was afraid of seizures, exhaustion, running down my immune system, elevating my blood glucose for long periods, you name it, I was scared of it. But, I was very inspired while watching the Iron Man coverage this weekend, and I reminded myself that life is short, do what you enjoy.  So I'm starting with a half marathon in January, and my other goal is to do ChelanMan in July, the Olympic length triathlon. I don't know if you guys know this, but when I was diagnosed, I was supposed to participate in the Olympic ChelanMan that summer (I was diagnosed in April) but obviously, that didn't happen. I feel like things are coming back around full circle. I honestly never thought this would happen. It would have been too much to hope for - to live a normal (ish) life. 

So if anyone wants to join me for ChelanMan (you've got several months to decide) please please think about it. Let's get nuts. Let's get silly and have some fun and sweat, and laugh, and feel alive.

Joining My Herd

My lovely, timid, garden finally produced her first cucumber! (I'm pretty sure it's my fault for under-watering.) There is nothing more delicious than snipping a warmed-by-the-sun cucumber, and taking a big ole bite. The flesh was soft, giving way to a watery crispness. Yum!

I have some pretty exciting news. Remember when I mentioned that this year, my 34th, would be a time of challenges? That I was redefining fear in my life? Well, on Sunday I am flying out to Moab, Utah for a week of rock climbing. It's through a program named First Descents. I applied expecting to hopefully make it into a program for next year, but just a few weeks ago I received an email about a cancellation so I quickly started jumping through hoops. The program I was trying to get into was surfing in Santa Barbara, and I was stoked, but after my physical and final documents made it to their medical team, it was decided that because of my history of seizures I'm not allowed in their water programs; I at least have to be seizure free for a year. (There goes the river kayaking, too!) But, as a very kind gesture, they sneaked me into a rock climbing program instead. I'm so nervous.

Oh ya, did I mention that all the attendees are cancer fighters and survivors?!? That's the part I'm most excited about. I've written about my isolation before, about how hard it can be when you're fighting tumors or cancer, that you can't relate on the same level with your friends, or even your family.

"First Descents offers young adult cancer fighters and survivors a free outdoor adventure experience designed to empower them to climb, paddle and surf beyond their diagnosis, defy their cancer, reclaim their lives and connect with others doing the same."

I can't wait to join my herd. (Does that make me a cow?) I can't wait to make friends. I can't wait to laugh! I can't wait to freak out from the heights. I can't wait to kick some rock ass. I can't wait to sweat. I can't wait for the challenge. I can't wait to earn my fear. I am so sick of shooting up out of bed from nightmares. I'm sick of nightsweats. I am sick of sensing tingles, and changes in my tumor cavity, always wondering, Is that the tumor? Am I feeling angiogenesis, a new blood vessel feeding Hermie, helping him grow? I'm sick of fearing brain tumors. I'm sick of fearing fear. It's not that I want to change how fear plays a role in my life, it's that I am changing how fear plays a role in my life. I am taking control now.

I feel guilty taking a week long vacation while Dan works. I feel guilty taking time off of my life, my research, my job helping my friends fight their cancers. There won't be an internet, or I've been told it's spotty, so I'll literally be gone. I feel guilty and lucky that I get to go on this free trip, and get this amazing experience. I feel like this will be a game changer. That it will be a catalyst, empowering me, humbling me, recharging me. In my life, at each turn, I just keep getting gift after gift. Who gets to live like this? This girl. And she's damn grateful.

Out Living

Oh I have been laughing at myself. Me and my big book. Me talking about my fancy new brain. The second I started typing about my progress, Doubt started creeping in. He's such a jerk, that Doubt. I'm macabre in nature, and can not help but wonder if this next MRI in October will prove to be the one where Hermie shows back up. Life is too good. It's going so well. When Doubt spoke up, I literally laughed out loud. The irony of life. You never know when your luck will end. All I can do is enjoy each day, seek out the big books, strive to be happy, push boundaries.

This past weekend Dan and I went camping in north central Washington. We brought friends, new and old. My cell phone quickly drained as we drove closer, and as I unplugged from the rest of the world, my vision became clearer, the sunshine brighter, the river much more blue. I took deep breaths, inhaling the dry wind. I allowed the breeze to ribbon around my neck, sparking private smiles. I'm not much for camping; I'm a girl somewhat tethered to electricity, to amenities. But, man, did I enjoy myself. I swam and swam, lap after lap, in the river. I goofed off with the kids. I sneaked away to read my books. I went to bed early with the sun, and rose with the quail as the sky pinkened. I slept hard, hard on the hard ground. I have bruises on my hips, battle scars. I look at them with pride. It reminds me that this is my year of challenges, of getting out of my comfort zone. The bruises remind me that I'm alive, that I'm out there living.

Where did the girls go!?

Dan caught us snoozing

Our campfire smoke made it a bit hazy, but what a gorgeous spot!

On another note, I've been meaning to mention that for the first time the FDA has approved a pharmaceutical CBD to treat glioblastoma. (Remember my post on CBD for brain tumors and seizures?) The drug was given "orphan drug status", here's the press release, or you can read it below. This is fantastic validation for CBD advocates! The FDA had already granted "orphan drug status" to the same pharmaceutical company, Insys Therapeutics, for two rare forms of epilepsy (Dravet Syndrome and Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome). Boy do I love it that I live in a state that makes it easier to procure, and use medical marijuana. Even though CBD isn't psychoactive, you still have to have a license to grow marijuana, even if it's industrial hemp (which still hasn't passed in the House). We're getting closer, though, to allowing us cancer fighters to do what we have to do to survive. This is our life, our future, our bodies. Ultimately, we should be the ones making the decisions, not the government. We're a unique crew, and should have flexibility, even carte blanche.

Winking at Fear

Yesterday, I turned a year older. And, it has officially been 4 years, 3 months, and 25 days since I was diagnosed. I have had three brain surgeries. I have tried almost every brain tumor diet on the planet. I have gobbled hundreds of thousands of pills. I have researched. I have exercised. I have meditated. I've dodged seizures; I have endured them. They've injected shot after shot to boost my immune system, and to fight my tumor. I've done the high dose IV drips. I drop venom in my nose, and I swish it in my mouth. I've traveled the country, and around the world, to meet with doctors for second opinions, for surgeries, and treatments. All that, and so much more, and yet I feel like an imposter, like this isn't my life.

I got the email yesterday, a great birthday surprise, that I am included with five other bloggers to be posted on the National Brain Tumor Society website. As I read the other posts I felt like a voyeur, like I didn't belong. It's confusing because I relate to so many of the things that they wrote, yet, with others I have no experience: radiation, chemo. It's as if they were long lost family members; we had never met, but somehow I recognized myself in their faces. I loved the variation of stories, of perspectives, of journeys. The voices, although different, carried similar threads of hope, fear, frustration, gratitude, and determination. Everyone had gone through a lot, whether it had been surgery, or treatments, or a combination. But some of these fighters truly astound me with what they are conquering, what they're capable of enduring. I read the blogs yesterday but I keep coming back to reread them, trying to soak it all in. When I was first diagnosed I tried support groups and they were horribly depressing. In contrast, I'm finding that those who chose to blog about their experience aren't just wanting to connect, they want to help. They want to reach others, far and wide, in the hope that their experience will save another some trouble; to help connect the dots faster.

I am now 34 and it feels old. It feels solid, grounded in my situation, in my brain tumor reality. Kind of stuck. And in my life of contradictions, I feel removed, and floating. I was emailing, the other day, with my cancer buddy Lo, and we were recognizing how you get diagnosed, then everything stops. You keep swirling through scans, and treatments, and scans, and treatments, and year after year you get older but your world stays the same. You try not to, but from time to time, you can vividly imagine where your life would have gone, the road that was washed out before you. 

This year, to distract myself from my inevitable hamster wheel of treatments, at the recommendation of my buddy who did the same for her 34th year, I have decided to do as many things as possible (within reason) that make me uncomfortable, that scare me, that push my limits. I envision lots of nervous laughter, and triumphs. Probably a good deal of sweat, and awkwardness. Living with cancer/brain tumors makes it impossible not to live in some state of fear. More so than most. I challenge myself to open my arms this year to fear, to look it in the face, cock my head, and give him a wink, then jump.

So cheers to another year! This time, instead of cancer pushing my limits, always cancer driving my fear, or cancer making my life uncomfortable, I will take control and steal away some of cancer's power. I'm ready for a different type of fear, and a better adrenalin rush.

Here's a few photos from my birthday celebration, checking out Crystal Mountain, with Dan (including my attempt at a photo bomb). The year is already off to an exciting start... 

Cue The Music

Recently, I was invited to join a group of bloggers as an ongoing roundtable for brain tumor patient issues. When the email popped into my inbox, I was surprised, and honored to be included. Over the past four and a half years I've corresponded with many brain tumor fighters, and family members of fighters; a few times I've been solicited to endorse various products (which I've turned down - ironically they were mostly pharmaceuticals), but I had yet to be invited to submit a post on a specific subject regarding brain tumor patient care or patient issues. I am flattered! The deal is that I submit my post and then out of all the submissions the National Brain Tumor Society will choose a few to be featured on their national website. I don't know if that excites me or terrifies me, but I do love to write so I figured this will at minimum be a fun homework assignment, a good challenge. The topic: What symptoms do you think should be candidates for therapeutic drug development?

When I read the topic, I slouched down, disappointed. I was hoping for something else, anything else, that I could write organically and passionately about. The tricky part? I don't like to take drugs. (Which, humorously, will probably bump me out of the running of getting on http://www.braintumor.org/.) But what do I do? I wasn't about to all of a sudden flip flop my stance just for the chance to be published. At least, I didn't think I would. But as I started really thinking about drugs, I remembered my lorazepam prescription which as been a life saver. Possibly even literally. Lorazepam is what I take as I feel an aura, the premonition of a seizure, coming on. It effectively mitigates my seizure issue, stopping my seizures in their tracks. It allows me to live a semi-more-normal life. So, although I don't like to use medications, I realize that there is definitely a place for them in my life. Not only is there a place, I actually need them.

Even though the idea of taking more drugs is unappealing, I acknowledge that it is in my best interest to keep my mind open. My hesitation as been due to the traumatic side effects I've experienced from the various drugs prescribed for my brain surgeries and seizures. Sure, sometimes they were minimal and worth it, but most of the time I felt like I couldn't win, that I was stuck in some sort of medical purgatory. I've dealt with horrible acne of all kinds, moodiness, weight gain, lethargy, even thoughts of suicide - all from taking those tiny little pills. Side effects are no joking matter, sometimes they're even worse that the symptom you're trying to alleviate. So, anyway, as I've digressed, what symptoms do I think we need more drugs to combat? Huh. Tough one. I have to scan back to my situation: exhaustion, memory loss, cognitive issues, word-finding issues, extreme difficulty handling changes in routine, seizures, nerve damage from surgery, vertigo, brain pain/headaches, scar pain, sensory defensiveness or overload. I can't even think of the other random symptoms I deal with. It has all become a sort of blur that is my life.

But if I was to hope for a miracle drug that could evaporate one or a few of my symptoms, a magic pill that would help me get back to normal, that ever elusive state that we remember fondly - the time before diagnosis - I would hope for something to poof away my exhaustion without causing a seizure. Or I would poof away my brain pain and headaches. Ultimately, I wish I could poof away all of it so that I could run free like the happy little squirrel that I am, but I know that it's impossible. I can't unexperience this brain tumor life. I am forever changed. It's a shame that we can't unknow things, or unhave specific experiences. So, since I will most likely never be able to take a pill to poof all of the symptoms of my tumor, and my brain surgeries, I do wish for something that would give the illusion of health, and would provide a more enjoyable day-to-day life. If I didn't experience scar pain, screw pain, incision pain, and headaches in general or if I didn't experience such drastic exhaustion on a daily basis, it would be a great improvement in the quality of my life. It would allow my brain to heal and rest, and probably assist the recovery from my cognitive issues, even lessen my seizures. All this stuff has such a domino effect. And if the side effects were minimal, I might just get up and dance about it. Oh who am I kidding, I already started wiggling in my chair at the word dance (cue C&C Music Factory, "Everybody dance now..."). Ultimately, nothing is going to keep me down for long, not a headache, or complete exhaustion. I won't wait on a pill to live my life, but I'm not going to lie, the option sure would be nice.

Medical Marijuana: Friend or Foe

Since I shared out loud, opening myself up to friends and strangers about my diagnosis, I have been inundated with suggestions about adding cannabis to my protocol. Sometimes it's been under the cloak of privacy, other times it has been aggressively splattered on my old Facebook page. It is a divisive subject with loyal believers of its' healing properties, conversely others remain afraid of the psychoactive effects, fearful that it deteriorates lives. The first time I ever smoked pot was in high school. I think I was 15. Growing up on San Juan Island, we were taught in our fifth grade drug class that Marijuana grew naturally in our environment. We were taught how to spot it, and that we were to find an adult to remove and destroy it. As a kid, I was fearful of drugs, but marijuana seemed different. I never grew a liking toward it, though I experimented, and throughout the years would still play around every several years with friends. The pot made me unable to do my favorite things, though, like talk a lot, be quick witted, or harness my boundless energy. I still have friends that are regular pot users (which seems like such a lame way to describe it), and they're great. They're brilliant, and hilarious, and successful in their careers, but for me, it was like a rolling haze throughout my brain, shutting doors along the hallway of Thought Process. It was a bad fit.

With that being said, when people shared anecdotal stories of shrinking tumors, the alleviation of pain, or of enhanced sleep, I listened (or read the emails) with the same skepticism I hold toward anti-seizure medications, or standard of care. I would analyze their words and feel my throat ache with the memory of my old cigarette smoking ways (gross - still can't believe I ever lit up). I thought, Man, maybe it could help but at what cost? Smoking causes cancer too, remember? So I tabled it. I have two brain tumor fighting friends who use cannabis as a treatment. One smokes a puff before bed, and the other uses a resin of 1:1 (THC:CBD) orally on a cracker at night. Until recently I had only seen said anecdotal accounts - no scientific evidence to verify cannabis as a viable glioma fighting tool. I shy from believing third, fourth or linearly further removed stories. But, Stephen of AO and I have been scouring, researching, reading, discussing, and we've found information to support the use of medical marijuana for glioma. There's a trick, though, a caveat; there are things to know.

Now, this is not an exhaustive post to teach you everything you need to know about medical marijuana, this is just a basic overview of why I think you should acknowledge the relevance of the treatment. And I'm including a few things you should know as a brain tumor fighter, or as a discerning individual who reads this blog for fun.

Marijuana/Cannabis

• There are over 80 cannabinoids in each plant (THC is the most known, CBD is second most prominent)

• THC is known for its psychoactive effects

• CBD is not psychoactive

• CBD balances THC's psychoactive effects

• CBD has shown impressive results in alleviating seizures, insomnia, anxiety, and tumors

• There are plants that have been bred to have only trace amounts of THC (causing zero psychoactive effects) but up to 18% CBD (the good stuff)

• Industrial hemp which will not get you high, naturally contains a CBD of 3-4% which for a non-bred strain is considered high CBD. 

• The way to ingest CBD is not by smoking. You need to take it as an oil, a resin, by juicing leaves or buds, or turning it into a smoothie.

• THC has been shown in studies to lower immune response (the extent of which is unknown)

CBD & Adult Seizures
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/7413719

CBD & Childhood Epilepsy
http://www.gwpharm.com/Clinical%20Use.aspx

CBD & Sleep Inducing and Anti-Epileptic Activity
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/7028792

Like I mentioned, this is not intended to be exhaustive. I just wanted to give a starting point for others. This is merely a little introduction so that you can research for yourself and decide if it's something you may want to use in your cancer fighting. And for those who don't have cancer, I hope this helps open your eyes, and your mind to medicinal marijuana - it certainly did for me. The benefits, and merits of the plant are not debatable. It is proven. The sticky part (ha!) is that it gets a shady (double ha!) rap because of the recreational use which upsets many. Luckily, in my state, marijuana is legal. It's still cost prohibitive to get the doses I need, though. If I purchase the CBD it would cost $56 a day for me to cut seizures, stabilize my infamous sleep issues and copy the proven dosing to fight my glioma tumor cells. I can't afford that. It is frustrating to see something that could help me so much, but I can't attain it, not in the quantities I need. And all of those benefits without any psychotropic effects. Isn't that amazing? CBD could increase my quality of life 100 fold, let alone extend it.

I read, while doing research, that the Washington state House passed a bill (1888) in February to legalize the farming, processing, and sale of raw industrial hemp and related  products. As far as I can tell the bill was stuck in the world of revisions and rereading in the state Senate, now WSU is conducting a feasibility study with an end point of January 2015. The point of argument in the Senate is whether the WSDA should be the sole source of seed or just certify the seed. Hopefully they can figure that out.

The most ironic part of this whole issue, this whole post, is that a major portion of my parents business has until recently been comprised of industrialized hemp imported from (at times Hungary, Romania, and Poland) other countries. It was in the form of hemp twine, cord, thread, even fabric. With sweaty brows, and dust covering my clothes, I have literally heaved shipping containers worth of the stuff, never knowing the amazing power hidden in my arms. I'm coming around, though. Things are changing. I hope this information helps you see the benefits we can harness from this amazing plant.

The Earth has so many secrets still. Lets keep our minds open.

Orthoexia? What!

Holy. Cow. I have borderline orthorexia. 

It's an actual thing. 

I was watching the news this morning and a story came on about a girl who went vegan and about a year into it she realized that she would stand in front of the fridge for 20 minutes, overanalyzing her food choices, afraid to make a decision. She was obsessed with picking the healthiest choice (the definition of orthorexia). Hearing her story was like looking into the mirror. The girl became malnourished, having an extreme case of the disorder. I would consider myself more borderline, but the truth is, my obsession with food has lead me to become weak, have more seizures, limited my activities, and has isolated me from social settings. It has been too much. My relationship with food has become unhealthy. 

The tricky part, is that in the case of cancer many people say that their extreme food choices (orthorexia) saved their life. That it stopped their tumor growth, or even healed them. Of course, as with everything, there's a fine line, but I'm realizing for me personally, I've crossed it. Analyzing food has been all encompassing. Food has come to signify life or death. It has become my god and my devil. 

This realization, of orthorexia, comes just several days after making the choice to stop being so restrictive. I have stopped checking macronutrients (even though I can mentally size up grams, and ounces, and calories, and fat content and carb amounts of various foods - vegetables, fruits, meats, dairy items, oils, nuts - by memory) I no longer eliminate things from my diet. I made that decision after observing the fact that my seizures have gotten worse the more I restrict, the more I obsess and remove foods from my diet.

I should say, I can't, nor would I want to, unknow what I know about food. I'm now allowing myself to use my vast knowledge (and part of this is me acknowledging that I am educated enough to make great decisions) to eat the way that I need to for energy, for seizure control, and for tumor-fighting. Every body is unique. Each body has specific needs, and now that I've tried everyone else's protocols, I need to just create my own. I finally feel comfortable enough, after trying every tumor diet I could find, to fly on my own. Now I'm truly off in unchartered territory. My own rules. My own way. I feel empowered, but nervous. My training wheels are off. 

I have always put so much weight on food choices, since I was diagnosed, then progressively so as I researched more and more. Now it's up to me to make the best decisions. To compile all of my reading, my knowledge, and live healthy, to fight my tumor, and eliminate seizures, and have enough energy to get out and enjoy life. I hope I'm making the correct decision. I guess we'll find out in October when I have my next MRI. Perhaps, I just need to have faith in myself. And remind myself that no one diet (vegan, raw, restricted ketogenic, paleo, vegetarian, Budwigs, macrobiotic...etc.) cures cancer. But a percentage of people do well on each one. I need to go back to listening to my body, and quit beating my head against the brick wall of food/diet. 

I leave you with a photo of Charlie, my largest, happiest, cucumber plant. Note to self: I should probably stop naming my plants because it makes it harder to eat them. 

Water-Only Fast = Seizures

Oh fudgeknuckles. I did it again. The thing is, you'd think I'd remember that I have stress-induced seizures, and here I was doing a several day water-only fast. And the whole point of a fast is to stress the body so that it cleans out damaged cells. Stress, the word is written directly in the description. Fool. I always think I can handle more than I can. But the payoff (a completely regenerated immune system) was so great that I had convinced myself that I could handle it. I believed that I could make it three days and that it would be great. 

But that's not what happened. About two hours after that last post, I was waiting for the iron to heat up to press Dan's shirts, vacuuming the house to kill time, when I started to feel off. I told myself that everyone doing a water-only fast feels off, but I still made my way to the kitchen to eat the second half of my papaya. What I noticed first, was that my right hand and arm were icy cold, and I was having a hard time spooning the papaya meat. I thought to myself that I needed more fruit, that I didn't feel well but needed something gentle on my stomach, but we didn't have anymore. One trick from my doctors is to eat something sweet when you're about to have a seizure, I guess it's supposed to help slow the onset, or perhaps even lessen the intensity. When I have my stress-induced seizures I'm typically hypoglycemic (another reason that I've come to reason why I probably shouldn't fast). I've checked my blood glucose levels a few times just before seizures, knowing I wasn't feeling well, and it's always in the 40-60 range. This time, after having eaten the rest of the papaya I was at 69. Even with the symptoms, I was surprised by the number. I guess I should take that stuff more seriously.

After eating that final half of papaya, I didn't have anything sweet in the house, that I could think of, until I remembered my mom's cherry bourbon jam. It was a miracle that I got that jar open. (I live with a man with the grip of a giant.) I spooned out a bite, then realizing that I was out of my seizure pills, I walked to the bedroom to lay down. Looking back I knew it was coming, ultimately, from the time of the second half of the papaya, but kept pushing to check my blood glucose and get that jam. I wanted ice water too, but knew I was about to hit the floor if I didn't just give up, and retreat to a safe place. It was so cold in there, probably low 50's (we don't have central heat), that I had to get back up and turn on the wall heat. As I laid back down, shivering, I kept thinking, "Breathe. You're fine. You can get through this. This is no different than normal, other than the lack of pills. It won't change anything. Deep breaths." And as the pins and needles in my hand grew stronger and creeped up my right arm, hot tears dripped down my cheeks and landed into the basins of my ears. I stared at the ceiling as things progressed, ever more painful as it reached my shoulder, then my face. When it hit the top of my skull I could have thrown up from the inner hammering, but I was too distracted. I realized in that moment, that there was nowhere else for the energy to go but back into my brain. For many, these seizures often progress into Grand Mal seizures, or turn into a series of episodes. I braced myself. Already it was the most aggressive seizure since my onset seizure back in 2011, a Grand Mal while driving. Usually the tingling stays around my hand and arm, but this one kept progressing until it had engulfed my entire right side. And it hurt, oh God did it hurt. In unchartered territory, I didn't know if I was headed into a more scary state, loss of consciousness, vomiting and choking to death, losing control of my bowels or bladder. I new I was helpless, so I kept taking long, slow breaths. 

As I braced, I twisted my neck to feel the cool pillow on my right side (that half of my body was on fire to the touch). In that moment, the coolness soothed my face and my mind and I had the sense that it was going to be okay. Under my breath, I began whispering over and over and over, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

As the seizure subsided, the pain continued to surge, but slowly lessened into a deep monotonous throb, both down my arm to my hand, and throughout my brain. Usually my seizures don't cause that kind of severe headache.

Not feeling well, still reeling, and aware of the seizure activity swirling in my body, I knew I needed more lorazepam, and I needed it soon. I called Emma into our bedroom (she's not normally allowed - she sheds too much) and asked her to come lay down on our bed to keep me calm. I've read that petting animals soothes the brain. I then called Dan and let him know the basics. He was headed home anyway, so that was handy. I then set down the phone to rest, just talking on the phone seemed to re-trigger the seizure energy in my brain. It was too hard to think, to talk. But I was scared, I knew I needed more pills, but Dan was driving, and I didn't want to bother him. I didn't want to put him in danger, knowing he was probably already speeding to get home, I wasn't about to add a phone call while driving to his tasks. I took several breaths and called my parents and gave the cliffsnotes of my dilemma. They asked for my doctor's name and quickly told me to hang up, that they would handle it. 

For the next 15-20 minutes I went in and out of various states of nausea, and tingling, and shivers, and hot flashes. I remember wondering if I should go find my empty lorazepam bottle and lick the old dust particles for some of the microscopic relief, but it seemed like too much energy to muster. The pain never went away, but did eventually subside. Danny was able to pick up the prescription, the one my parents were able to get renewed, I took a Lorazepam and everything eased up from there. The headache remained for the rest of the night, but I didn't have anymore seizures.

Needless to say, Friday was eventful, and perhaps a clear sign that I'm not meant to challenge my body with several day water-only fasts. Not as a person with stress and hypoglycemic induced seizures. You'd think I would have assumed it before engaging, but it never seems to get through my thick skull (not even through the surgery cracks) that I am not normal. I have special needs. I like to believe that I'm just like everyone else, but it isn't the case. One of these days, I have to accept it.

Working With A Governor

You know what's crazy? You get diagnosed, you go through surgery, you recover, then the real test comes in living your life knowing that you have tumor cells in your brain, that the tumor (always) comes back (according to your doctors) then you start over again. Each time they dig in your brain you hope you wont die. You hope that the majority of your brain, the stuff that makes you you, will remain after they fiddle. That you won't be too damaged. You know before hand that you'll never be the same, no one ever is, but all you can do is hope that it's a minor shift. You go home, you fight, you research, you add treatments, you change your diet, you work incredibly hard. And at the same time, even though your whole life has been derailed, all of your dreams put on hold, except for a twinge of sadness here or there, you're just thrilled to be alive. You live your life revolving around scans and treatment, knowing each scan could be all it takes to devastate, that each treatment may not be enough. You battle fatigue, you battle the horror of seizures. And all the while, through it all, you're just happy to be capable of reading, and writing, and walking, and running, and laughing, and recognizing the beauty of each moment, of everything around you and most of all that you're able to fight. Cancer has a way of stopping the world from spinning. Everything happens at once, then not at all.

Tomorrow morning at 8:00 am is the MRI scan. Again they poke, jerking that needle into my vein, readying my body for the contrast dye that will tell all of my brain's dark secrets. Each MRI, each scan, is the biggest test of my life. Essentially, I live each day studying for this moment, for each exam. I remember my parents telling me when I was in my 20's, with admiration, that I was the consummate student - that it was my lifelong passion. We just never knew that I would be attending my own university, earning my own solitary degree. A degree in my body, my health, my survival. I love learning about the facets of tumors, of tumor life, how to outsmart them, to jump the hurdles. Sometimes it's scary. Sometimes it makes me viscerally ill. Regardless, I continue. My only wish is that I would have more energy, that my brain wouldn't shut down. Since the first brain surgery my body has a governor, and there is nothing I can do to change it. I work within specific boundaries that my body dictates. You guys know I fight it, pushing too hard at times. I keep hoping that just like with a muscle, all my mind needs is exercise to gain endurance. Doesn't seem to work that way though.

Sorry for the delay in my email responses, I'll probably be backed up for the next week - I'm still having to take daily naps to catch up after all that research. Please send a second email if you have an urgent question and I'll do my best to get back to you. For now, Dan's sneaking me off to hit golf balls (a close second to my favorite - the batting range) to de-stress.

As ever, but profoundly obvious, my fate is in the hands of the universe. Let's hope I've done enough to keep that parasite at bay.

Blinded By The Fashionable Ketones

I've been swimming in the interweb waves all day. I'm gathering, learning, relearning, trying to absorb, planning.

Things I know:

• You can not completely eliminate glutamate/glutamine from your diet...it's in every once living thing (except lard & most oils)
• Your body can create glutamine/glutamate when it wants it (thanks muscles and other less obvious trickery)
• You can eliminate glucose from your diet, but your body will just create it anyway (muscles save the day yet again)
• Limiting glucose and glutamine/glutamate is ideal for slowing tumor growth, but when hungry, a vegetable which may increase circulating glucose is better than eating a bit of meat (only because I'm IDH1 positive - the glutamine eater)

See, I knew, I had heard, I had read, I had discussed the fact that protein is a growth factor for all cancer. But I got bogged down with the whole ketogenic trend specific to brain tumors. I thought, perhaps we were bred differently. That we were special. That ketones were the key. I'm not saying the ketogenic diet doesn't help slow brain tumors, but from the research I've read it has to be calorically restricted. In its natural state the diet does not slow tumor growth (http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1819381/figure/F2). But in my mind, I figured, if I could do the restricted ketogenic diet (allegedly the ketones themselves fight tumor cells if you get a high enough blood serum level) at least most of the time, it would be better to reduce the glucose, and protein (not realizing it was specifically glutamine/glutamate I needed to focus on) with the RKD than be a vegetarian or even do Paleo. The problem continuously surfaced, though, that I would putter out of energy. And when that happened, instead of reaching for a vegetable (carbs kick you out of ketosis) I would reach for protein like peanut butter or a hard boiled egg. Exactly the wrong snacks for low grade IDH mutant brain tumors. I was essentially handing Herman a big ole glob of glutamine.

It's crazy, I remember a phone call with my nutritionist where she emphasized that my green smoothies (which are all vegetable save an avocado & lemon) turn directly into sugar in my body; that without protein with each meal and snack, I was killing myself. Not her words, but still. She was emphatic about the huge sugar spike that would surge through my veins, therefore feeding the tumor. IE: Killing myself. Same same. It put the fear of Hermie in me, driving home the whole protein must be included to survive mantra. Remember all the times I've written about feeling guilty about my apples? That was because of my nutritionist. As was my deviation from my green smoothies. It leaves you feeling crazy. Who's right? What do I do? Am I just supposed to pick the lesser of two evils? Glucose spike over protein consumption? Girl still gotta eat.

Things I know:

• Known unbiased tumor fighter = caloric restriction (click for a great study on the benefits). It doesn't seem to matter if you eat the calories from protein, fat, or carb, just be sure to take your BMR and cut it by 30% (some say 20% others 40%). That's the surefire way to hypnotize the giant. It won't stop him, but it'll sedate him, and maybe during that time we'll find just the right cocktail to kill him. It's also the thing I always forget. Or maybe I just don't want to deprive myself so I black it out from time to time. :)
• Healthy fats like omega-3's (fish oil) continue to be a great way to supplement my diet. One of the least burdensome of the food groups, in regard to the glucose/glutamine issue. However, not that palatable as a snack. Just sayin'.

Reviewing over my notes, it's clear about the caloric restriction, but I'm also wondering if perhaps soduim phenylbutyrate & metformin could really work together, like hit it out of the park, for IDH mutant tumors (along with all my other goodies, of course - my newest motto is never take away, only add). I know I repeat myself a lot, but it takes a lot of hammering things into my brain, and even then details and concepts, the most obvious of stuff, often slips away. I wish I could just blame it on the tumor, but I think the more you use your brain the more you have to make space. Happens to all of us.

Am I more scared about this MRI than usual? Maybe. It's the turning point that we hit and had tumor growth after the first brain surgery, so technically, this is when Herman should show back up. Not to mention the fact that the proliferation rate of this tumor was faster than the first. If they see tumor I won't be surprised, only disappointed. If they don't see tumor I will consider it a miracle. It's not that I'm pessimistic necessarily, I just don't take this no-visible-tumor stuff for granted. I don't assume that all of these treatments "have" to work. There have been so many that have gone before me that have given everything they had, and still, it wasn't enough, they were taken. I know that life is a gift, and although I'm scared, more than scared actually, with every exhale of breath I remind myself that I just enjoyed a luxury.

Time for lunch...