A Surprise Trip Home

Family and Friends5 Comments

For an expat, the concept of “home” is difficult to define. Is it the country you are currently living in? Is it the place where you grew up? Is it the city where you attended university? On my recent trip to the states, I thought a lot about the concept of home.

Two weeks ago I surprised my sister by returning to Houston for her bridal shower weekend. She had no idea I was coming, largely because I told her I couldn’t. I continued to throw my sister off the scent by replying “no” to all Evites for the event. I even texted her right before I got on my plane in Chile that Jon and I were knee-deep in a Netflix show. I hoped this would explain why I wouldn’t be able to text her back for the next fifteen hours. My parents were in on the surprise too, and I think they liked it, even though it was new to them. Dad picked me up at the airport in Houston and told my mom and sis that he needed to run some errands. He was gone a lot longer than normal if he was just running errands, but my sister didn’t seem to notice. After we came in the front door we looked around. She was in the back corner of the house. I gave my cell phone to my mom to film the surprise. Ali happened to be awake and taking care of some wedding details in the computer room, so that made it even easier to turn the corner and surprise the bejeezus out of her. I wasn’t quite prepared for Ali’s response, as I was exhausted from traveling for about twenty-two hours. She was so shocked that she started crying immediately. We just rocked each other in an embrace while the tears ran down our faces.

“I’m home,” I thought, while I hugged her in my arms.

And for a day or two, my parents’ place in the Heights completely felt like home. Except that my husband, my dogs, and my comfy brown couch were not there with me. At the bridal shower, I became even more convinced that Houston was my home. I saw former teachers, Ali’s childhood friends, their moms, and various people who remember me from second grade through senior year. It was definitely a walk down memory lane. I really enjoyed seeing everybody and being able to show them in person that I was still alive and doing reasonably well. The only things that took some getting used to, were the names on the invitation to Ali’s Texas Girls Night Out. The first names read like a journal of Ali’s childhood, but the last names were completely different. “Ahhh- it’s the married names of the same girls I remember fondly.”  We had a great night together pretending to be young enough to ride mechanical bulls and line dance. It seemed like old times.

When I woke up in my parent’s old bed, though, I realized that home had fundamentally changed. My sister and her friends were no longer in their teens. Almost a decade ago, my parents moved from the suburban home I grew up in. I haven’t attended the John Cooper School in close to 17 years, and almost all of our friends have families of their own, or have moved away from Houston. Going to my parents’ place in the heights is completely different than my childhood experiences at 26996 Lana Lane. While I considered that, I felt a little lost. Where was my home now?

For the rest of the trip to the states I continued my journey down memory lane. Jon had a conference to attend in Los Angeles and asked me to accompany him. Since I still have many close friends in L.A., I happily agreed. I arrived in Los Angeles a little before Jon so I was able to spend some time with Randi. She has been a loyal and generous best friend since high school, so even just a few nights with her and Matt, her husband, helped fill my soul.

Jon arrived on Saturday, and his parents on Sunday, so we made a quick transition to downtown LA where we stayed in an Airbnb. Jon and his parents had never been to the city, so we spent our two days together exploring the highlights. We didn’t have a car, so we took the Metro to Universal Studios one day, and Hollywood, the next. The Los Angeles Metro is an eye-opening experience, indeed. Most everyone in LA owns a car, so very few people take public transportation- only those that don’t own cars. On our first voyage Sandi sat next to a transgendered lady, obviously on some kind of drug, returning from an all-nighter at the Hollywood Halloween party. There were single moms yawning, students from Los Angeles City College with headphones and bicycles, and hard-working immigrants from a variety of cultures going to or from one of their many jobs. There certainly weren’t any other white tourists on that train. “Ahhh! America! The land of diversity…” I thought proudly to myself. “I must be home,” I thought, as I glimpsed the familiar Hollywood sign on the hill behind the Dolby Theater.

After Jon’s parents left, I was able to take the train down to San Diego to visit a dear college friend, and her son. I had been promising her for years that I would come see her house, so this was the perfect opportunity. Megan and I had a great time cheering on the Cubs and devouring delicious bar food. “I am definitely home,” I told myself, as I gnawed on a buffalo wing and shouted gleefully at the sports game on TV. The next morning my friend’s husband went to work and so we took care of her son, Lucas. Due to my health, it was hard for me to up in the morning, though, so I tried to entertain him from my prone position on the couch. Sadly, in a few hours I had to leave. “Child rearing is difficult,” I decided, as I boarded the train and waved goodbye. As they disappeared a tear ran down my cheek. “Our lives have changed so much since college,” I thought. I knew that’s exactly what she was thinking.

On my trip I also had dinner with life-long soccer friends, ate breakfast with my childhood best friend, ran into an old flame, reminisced with a good friend from China, and grabbed a muffin with my former neighbor from Santiago. In twelve days I managed to visit with people from every single stage of my life. Every person and place I visited represented an essential part of me. Thank you to everyone who made me feel at home while I was in the states.

However, a week later, after all those Uber rides, Jon and I were ready to board the plane to Santiago, and sleep in our beds again. We missed our dogs and wanted to nap alongside them. We wanted to be able to navigate our neighborhood grocery store like locals. We wanted to sleep in all morning if we wanted to. In short, we were ready to go home.

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The Last Four Years

Cancer, Travel8 Comments

This Saturday, October 1st, marks four years since my initial diagnosis of Metastatic Breast Cancer. That’s four years of scheduling doctor’s appointments, four years of regular blood work, four years of oncology nurses plunging large needles into my port to hook me up to my chemo drugs. When we reflected yesterday on everything that’s happened in that time, Jon and I were taken aback.

A lot can happen in four years… like attending and graduating high school or college. A child can grow from a baby who does nothing but cry, feed, and poop, to a full-blown child who can express their thoughts with words. Four years may not seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it has been a real game changer for me. I have spent most of my thirties battling cancer. I’ve received anti-body treatment every three weeks, lost a body part, fit myself with radiation masks, watched my hair fall out three times, and was told that if I didn’t treat this right now I only had three months to live. Indeed, these last four years have been a vicious roller-coaster ride, twisting and turning perilously before plunging us to the limits of our sanity.  Jon and I have clung on for dear life, and luckily we’ve made it to the top of the ride again.

A person’s physique can also change drastically in four years.  I’ve watched my body morph from that of a strong and healthy college athlete to an exhausted, habitual drug user with mismatching breasts. (We’re talking legal drugs here, but they still wreak havoc on the body). In the last four years I’ve probably had at least four or five different hairstyles. I’ve become quite friendly with the beautician who regularly cleans my wig at the salon. After handing me some expensive shampoo and conditioner, she said that by Ali’s wedding in January I should have enough hair to cover my head, even the bald spots in the back.  While I’m excited about the prospect of wearing my own hair this summer in Costa Rica, nine months is a long time for hair to reappear.  That’s right, folks; in the same amount of time it takes my hair to grow one inch, a woman can grow an entire human being from scratch!

This past week has been difficult for me because I just came back from an action-packed Dieciocho week in Argentina with Jon and my parents to a lonely home and the reality of my situation. I work best with deadlines, lists, and legitimate reasons to leave the house. During the work day at my house on Tomas de Figueroa, I don’t have these things. Most of my friends still living in Santiago teach at the school, as does my husband. They are busy during the day and tired when they get home. I also don’t have access to a car so I have to walk or take taxis if I want to do anything. To ease the tedium, a few friends, who also don’t work, and I have agreed to be “ladies who lunch” and plan regular activities each week. Other than finding cool places to eat, we also attend museum exhibits and luxuriate in the ability to see movies in the middle of the day. Those days give me a reason to shower and dress up a bit. (And by dress up, I mean not wallow on the couch all day in my pajamas.) When I am doing something and am surrounded by people, I have more energy, so I am glad to have some fellow ladies who also don’t work.

Not having a real job, though, makes it hard to explain what I do to others who ask. Here is an example of a depressing conversation I’ve had with strangers all too often recently on my various trips:

“Where do you live?” asks the inquisitive party.

“Actually, my husband and I live in Santiago de Chile. This is our sixth year there,” I respond.

“How exciting! What do you do for a job?” asks the inquisitive party.

“Well, right now, I’m actually not working,” I answer after a pensive pause.

“Raising a family is a beautiful job too. How many kids do you have?”

I think for a bit and answer in my mind, “No, no, I don’t stay home and take care of children. I stay home because I have cancer and quit my job because my health made it impossible for me to do my best job. Also, it’s impossible for me to have kids. Thanks for bringing that up, stranger.”  The inquisitive party usually becomes less inquisitive at this point in the conversation, so I usually go with the safer response, “I’m taking time off for health reasons.”

To illustrate my recent sadness, let me give you an example of a typical day in the past few months. I wake up in a dark room, without my husband, with only my doggy dos in bed with me. I vaguely remember Jon kissing me on the head before he leaves for work at 6:45. I switch on my cell phone. If I don’t have something scheduled for that day in my calendar, I generally fall back asleep. Since I don’t have a legitimate reason to leave the house, I feel no drive to wake up, shower, get dressed, or run errands. Still wearing my PJs makes it very difficult to do anything but binge watch a TV show. Most times I am able to convince myself this is a good use of my time.

As many people have reminded me, when the subject comes up, there is actually a lot I could do to fill my days productively. I could write, take classes online, start my own cooking classes, buy a keyboard and play music again, read and tan outside on a lounge chair we have yet to buy, or ride the bike I just bought, to the park.   First, I need to buy a bike helmet, though, in case I become dizzy and fall off. But you can bet we haven’t bought that yet either… So, yes, there are still things that I can spend my time doing, but it’s easier said than done.  It’s hard to go from being a busy go-getter to having no job and nothing that really needs to be done.  At the top of the list in bold is: Become a Better Housewife.   In order to achieve that I could clean clothes, wash dishes and spend my day watering the garden and dusting… However, that’s not really my cup of tea. Thank god we can still afford Agustina!

Since household chores have been stricken from my list of to-dos, I am not left with a lot to do, other than to meticulously plan my next travel experience. When sightseeing I have things to see and do and time to spend with friends and family. That’s one reason I have been out of town a lot this first semester. In fact, Jon and I just spent the Chilean national holiday week with my parents, who met us in Argentina. I have been to Buenos Aires many times now, mostly on girls’ trips focused on leather shopping and eating good food. Buenos Aires is such a great place, though, that it wasn’t hard for me to find activities for us to do while we were together. We went on a fabulous street art tour put on by graffitimundo, saw a tango show, visited the neighborhoods of San Telmo and La Boca. We attempted to walk through Palermo’s various gardens but unfortunately they were closed.  We went to the MALBA instead, a famous modern art museum that I didn’t really care for. After a few days of the big city we flew down south to view the incredible wildlife on Peninsula Valdes. Braving strong Patagonian wind, we saw over 25 endangered right southern whales, penguins, and sea lions. My only disappointment was that it was so windy one day that I was unable to climb down the sand bank to see the elephant seals. To prove how windy it was, after a few paces toward the cliff I was being blown around so much that Jon had to take me back to the car. There was no way I was going to make it down and back up that sand path. The wind gusts (up to 60 mph per our estimate) buffeted me so badly that I was basically a kite flying in the wind, connected to the earth by Jon’s hand. The trip was supposed to be the theme of this blog post because we had such a great time, but I realized I actually needed this blog as therapy for my feelings over the past few weeks.

Jon often tells me how much I’ve changed for the better since that fateful day in 2012. And I agree that I’ve changed, and mostly for the better. If you can believe it, I’m actually more emotionally stable than I was before cancer. I am more patient and I take things day by day. I don’t worry about the small things as much. Who has time to gripe about a grease stain on your brand new bed sheets when the doctor could tell you tomorrow that your tumors have grown and there’s nothing they can do to treat them?  Since my health and my survival is really out of my hands, I am more thankful for all that I have been able to accomplish so far in thirty-five years.   All of your support and this blog has provided a great outlet for my emotions, both good and bad. It has allowed me to let it out and get on with the business of living.

However, I am human.  I worry about my future and how much time I have left before being diagnosed again. Dr. M’s philosophy is not to worry about possible future treatment. He lives in the present, which encourages me to do so as well. At home, very rarely Jon and I ask the big questions out loud. “Are we going to attempt to move to another country? Am I going to go back to teaching?  Will anyone ever hire me again?  Should we try to adopt, even though the agencies we’ve researched have rules preventing parents with deadly diseases from adopting?  Should we go on that expensive vacation to the Galapagos because I might not be healthy enough to enjoy it next year?  What are you going to do when I’m gone?” There are so many giant questions hanging in the air and they are all virtually unanswerable. So Dr. M doesn’t address the tough ones until it’s necessary. At our last meeting I asked what the plan would be if my brain tumors enlarged. “Can my body handle any more radiation?” I asked, already knowing the answer.   Dr. M said that the tumors weren’t going to get bigger, and, if they did, he would tell me the treatment plan then. He didn’t answer the radiation question and after a few minutes of pensive thought, changed the subject quickly. Jon and I looked at each other because we knew the answer to my question was “No”.  Basically, unless a new treatment is invented before brain cancer attacks again, I’m f-cked! Right now my only chance at long-term survival is to find a way to prevent the cancer from invading my brain again.

Dr. M said the best way to do that right now is to take the oral chemotherapy pill, Temodal, and cross our fingers that it works. There is not much evidence, however, that this treatment is effective at preventing cancer from returning to the brain.  Dr. M is just hoping that it works because of its effectiveness when combined with radiation. If you remember though, the oral chemo pill pretty much ruined my trip to the states in June.   I was too sick to enjoy most of my time there, and even embarrassingly threw up on my closest childhood friend in a public restaurant.  Philosophically, I also deeply question the reason for taking the pill.   I don’t want to be sick for a quarter of the rest of my life.  Ingesting poison for one week every month isn’t really a good preventative method over any amount of time. As a result, I haven’t been taking it for the last two months because I wanted to enjoy my friend’s wedding in Colorado and the recent Dieciocho trip with my parents without being horribly nauseous.  (Don’t worry, this break was doctor sanctioned).  However, after Dr. M gave me that awkward non-answer about possible future treatments, I changed my mind a bit.  I agreed to try the pill again this month and see how I feel.  Since my stomach has had some time to calm down from the seven pills I was taking before, maybe it will be able to tolerate the chemo again. Over the past month or so I’ve gone off the steroids and reduced myself down to one hormone therapy pill.  The doctor, however, agreed that if my stomach pains ruin my quality of life, I can stop taking the pill.

In thinking about my fourth Cancer-versary, I wasn’t sure if it was better to celebrate or not. My family, friends, and I have gone through a lot these past four years and I really don’t want to think about my disease and my ambiguous future. Living with cancer has changed my life forever, and it’s been difficult. Although I’m still a survivor right now, the future looks grim and I don’t want to celebrate that. However, four years of living with Metastatic breast cancer is still impressive. I want to celebrate making it through those tough times. The long and short is there’s nothing to do but march forward. Hopefully I’ll continue to be lucky and keep adding candles to my pink cake. HAPPY FOUR YEARS to all members of Team Eli!

ARGENTINA PICTURES BELOW:

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Great Street art in BA
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Grafitti Mundo
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Mom and Dad enjoying Argentinian parilla in Buenos Aires
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Impromptu tango show in San Telmo. This man was slow but I’ll give him a break because he was 83 years young
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Iconic Tango Couple
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Welsh Tea in Gaiman, Argentina. What were the Welsh doing in Patagonia?
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Sea Lion colony. Love the line up at the front!
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Two sea lions
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Whale Tale near Punto Pyramides
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A southern right whale jumps out of the water. That’s his eye on the left side of his head
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So close to these amazing animals
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Patagonian wind: it ain’t playin around!
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Sea slugs.. I mean elephant seals
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The elephant seals it was too windy for me to see. Sniff..
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Cute!!!!
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The elephant seals I didn’t get to see
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Penguins are cute every time you see them
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Pinguino!
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When the sun came out, the water was an amazing shade of blue
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Sea Lion Colony

WHALE VIDEO:Click on the link or video below

 

 

 

Put Yourself in the Way of Beauty

Cancer, Travel3 Comments

 

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The view of the Rockies from the Alpine Visitors Center

When the book, Wild, came out by Cheryl Strayed I was anxious to read it. If you haven’t read it, or at least seen the movie with Reese Witherspoon, you should. I really liked the book and I felt for Cheryl as she was dealing with her mother’s sudden and devastating death from cancer. Granted, I disapproved of the methods in which Cheryl tried to remove herself from pain by getting lost in heroin and sex, but I still understood her motives. After she hit rock bottom, I thought her decision to walk the Pacific Coast Trail from start to finish, almost entirely on her own, made for an empowering story of healing and redemption.

Jon, however, hates the book. Although he loves the idea of getting lost in the wilderness, he cannot forgive Cheryl’s actions as they caused so much hurt and suffering to those that loved her. About the only thing we can agree on about the book is the truth of a statement made by a fellow hiker as Cheryl is thinking about giving up. She says, “There’s a sunrise and sunset every day. You can choose to be there for it. You can put yourself in the way of beauty.”  By continuing along the trail and immersing herself in the outdoors, Cheryl was able to mourn the loss of her mother, and become a better person in the process.

The past two weeks I traveled back to the states for my friend’s mountain wedding in Winter Park, Colorado. Since Jon was working (sorry sweetie), Ali was my date to the wedding. Luckily, my college roomie, Sarah, and her boyfriend, Ryu, were able to come as well. This marks the third time this year that I got to spend time with her and I am extremely grateful. Love you, pookie! The wedding was in a beautiful location, at a ranch surrounded by nothing but high altitude plains, forests of alpine trees, lakes, and mountains. After the gorgeous ceremony, I sat in the sun on the patio with my lemonade. (I’d had one too many glasses of wine the night before to even contemplate a glass of Chardonnay…) However, the pastoral view combined with the warmth of the sun was very restorative.

John Muir, 19th century American environmentalist, conservationist, and founder of the Sierra Club once said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.” I believe that to be true. Ever since my family’s visits to our nation’s National Parks, nature has always been my source of spirituality. Surrounded by some of my closest people and hearing the beautiful vows spoken by my friend and her new husband in front of that mountain backdrop, I felt the healing power that Muir spoke about. When the band started up that night, I proceeded to dance the night away. Well, as much as a recovering brain cancer patient at high altitude can without becoming exhausted and dizzy! “Come On Eileen” almost did me in…

The day after the wedding Sarah and Ryu left to go back to their home in Napa, and Ali and I were able to spend a few days together in Rocky Mt. National Park. We had never been there before, and I was really looking forward to some sissy time. Usually Ali and I don’t get to spend much time alone, just the two of us. We are always surrounded by family, friends, significant others, etc, so it was nice to just be silly and reminisce about the adventures of growing up in the Timms family.

Our lodging, in Estes Park was just outside the entrance of Rocky Mountain National Park, unfortunately on the other side of the mountain range from Winter Park. To get there we had to drive clear across the Rockies. This required us to take on Trail Ridge Road, a steep part of highway US 34 that reaches altitudes of 12,000 feet as it winds to the top of the Rocky Mountain Range. Having traversed some treacherous roads during my travels, I knew enough to be a little nervous. As we wound higher and higher up the mountain our laughter gradually subsided, my sister clutched the wheel of our Kia Sorrento, and I decided to shut my eyes for a while. When we got to the top of the pass at the Alpine Visitors Center we both breathed an enormous sigh of relief and looked back at the road we had driven. The sweeping alpine vistas, mountain ranges, and patches of snow showed us the glory of Mother Nature and made us feel small. When surrounded by all that beauty it’s hard to deny that there is something out there that is more powerful and grandiose than humanity can even fathom.

As you know, I am not a religious person in the traditional sense. I have only been home a week and already I have had several experiences that made me wonder, “What is the point of it all?” Well, after much thought I’ve decided there really is no point. What Cheryl and I have both realized through our journeys is that life is often cruel and unfair. All you can do is choose not to get swallowed up by its ugliness. Instead of trying to find an explanation for the unexplainable, pay attention to the small things that make life enjoyable. If your dogs paw at you to pet them, put down your computer and watch their look of pleasure as you scratch behind their ear. If you haven’t taken a short walk outdoors lately and listened to the birds chirp away, do so now. If the sky starts to turn a beautiful shade of pink, tear yourself away from Netflix and find a good spot to watch the sunset. Deliberately put yourself in the way of beauty.

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Reboot: Eli Version 4.0

Cancer, Third Time's a Charm5 Comments

If you are my Facebook friend you probably saw my message Tuesday indicating the scans from the MRI were positive! YAY! Believe it or not, you all have now helped cheer me to victory against cancer three times. So now it´s time to look ahead to the future, until, of course, the next time…

Tuesday began with my regular treatment at Oncologia Ambulatoria. I signed up for the earliest hour, 8 oclock, because I wanted to be done with the treatment before I had my meeting about the MRI with Dr. M. I showed up around 8:10 knowing full well the nurses would not be ready at eight. (This is South America, after all.) However, I didn´t expect them to take so long to admit me, considering I was the only patient in the waiting room. It wasn´t until a little past nine that I was hooked up to the machine and the drugs started dripping into my veins. My treatment, if the nurses feel like there is a time constraint can be as short as 3 ½ hours. Otherwise it takes around 4- 4 and a half. So I let them know about my meeting with the doctor across the Oncology floor at 12:30.

Well, 12:15 rolled around and I was not done with my Herceptin drip, nor the saline solution that they always finish with to clean out my veins. I told one of the nurses my problem and she assured me it would be okay and she would expedite my treatment. She called my doctor´s secretary and told her I would be done shortly. She turned around and gave me a thumbs-up, which I guess meant that everything was fine. Jon showed up from school and I sat there for another 30 minutes until my drip finished. Another nurse came to hook me up with the saline solution and I was panicking because I was already 20 minutes late to my appointment. The other nurse let me know I could take my portable IV with me across the hall to see Dr. M. Thanks-this information would have come in handy earlier so I wouldn´t have been late for my meeting! Anyway, I really didn´t want to drag my portable IV through two waiting rooms and to my super important appointment, but I really had no choice.

Dr. M began the meeting by asking if he should start with the good news or the bad news. I squirmed in my seat a bit. The first thing he said, though, was about him and I can´t publish it all over the internet until it is for sure. So even though I can´t tell you the news now, it had absolutely nothing to do with my MRI. “Is that the bad news or the good news?” Jon and I asked each other under our breath as the doctor began to examine my scan information. He asked me how I felt and kept repeating that I looked good and healthy. “Just tell me what the scan said!” I wanted to shout. Then the doctor attempted to translate the difficult Spanish medical terms into English ones. He was not so successful. It took us about three times reading and translating to figure out what the analysis of the scan actually said. Basically, what the scan indicating was that my lesions have shrunk. I still have the same number of lesions but they are much smaller. Also, since I had an MRI and not a Pet Scan, the magnetic images couldn´t determine if the lesions were live cells or dead cells. The lesions could just be scars at this point, which is my fervent hope. Dr. M also said they noticed a tiny blip in a different part of my brain that was so small that the doctors couldn´t determine whether it was a lesion or not. Dr. M said we´d keep track of it by doing regular scans.

Upon processing this information Jon and I did not jump out of our seats and start whooping and hollering as we did the other times. I was not shocked by the information because I´ve been feeling pretty good recently, and I didn´t expect the news to be 100% positive anyway. The dizziness, although diminished, is not completely gone. Also the back of my head is really sore when I lie down on certain types of pillows. The scan revealed that I still have some edema, or swelling, on the lower left side of my brain. Dr. M said that with the large dose of radiation I received, this is to be expected. I´m only feeling some pain now because my dosage of steroids is so low. Don´t worry though- the pain is pretty minor and I´d rather have a little pain than the bloat and puffiness of the steroids.

As we rode home in the car, Jon and I weren´t as excited as we had been the other two times we received important scan results. It didn´t really seem like there was anything to celebrate other than the treatment is working for now. The first time I was diagnosed and survived I was declared to be a “milagro” 0r miracle. I went from stage IV cancer to complete and total remission in less than 6 months. This was completely unheard of and definitely a shock to the doctors and a shock to me. It was certainly a result worth celebrating. The scan result last summer when the cancer had re- metastasized in the brain was also pretty exciting. I had survived brain cancer.

This third diagnosis though brought us back to reality. For this scan result, Jon and I were a little more realistic. I have metastatic breast cancer, which means it is here to stay. We know that now. No doctor will probably ever again tell me I´m cancer free, unless the doctors and researchers come up with a cure soon. Until then I will have to be content with controlling the cancer and doing what it takes to keep it stable enough so that I can live my life as best as I possibly can.

However, I don´t want to leave you readers in a gloomy place, because the scan results were, indeed, positive. The good thing about this scan result is now I know for certain that I have more time to spend with Jon and my friends, and my family. I can travel to more places. I will be healthy enough to enjoy my sister´s wedding in Costa Rica. No one ever knows when their life will end, and in that regard I am just like everybody else.

One of my friends is also dealing with MBC (metastatic breast cancer) and she currently has re-metastasis in her liver. She, too, had important scans last week. I was reading her blog and I found what she had to say quite astute. In the United States they are more scan-happy than in Chile. Pet Scans are usually given every three months. In fact, in the six years that she´s been dealing with this disease, she has had so many scans that her file now warns doctors to be cautious if administering more radiation because she´s already been exposed to so much. This is a scary reality because, from here on out, we will need to monitor my cancer through scans, which means that as long as I keep on surviving, I´ll probably have to have more radiation. Of course I will always keep my feelings of positivity and hope as much as possible, but I also know that I will be living my life from scan to scan. It´s so hard on me and Jon to keep adjusting our plans and our vision of the future, time after time. But that´s what we have to do. So here we go, time to wipe the motherboard clean, reboot, and reconfigure Eli, version 4.0.

 

Lady Luck

Cancer, Third Time's a Charm24 Comments

I’m not much for gambling.  When I play blackjack or craps in Vegas I take out a set amount of money to gamble with and consider it my entertainment money for the weekend. If it runs out I don’t take out any more cash to replace it. I don’t rely on “getting lucky” or “winning big”.  I keep my expectations realistic.

But perhaps my luck is changing. Two weeks ago Jon and I attended our second Scottish Ball. I was still very dizzy and nauseous, so I sat at the table, sipping water, and watched my friends hop and spin about to the bagpipes. It would have been impossible for me to join in the dancing. Although I was sad to miss out, there was also a raffle that was part of the evening. Normally, I never win anything, but Jon and I won three prizes, including a free night at a nice hotel about five blocks away from us, and also a night at a hotel in Valparaiso. Perhaps the universe knew we needed some good luck!

You see, in terms of the world of metastatic, or late stage cancer, I’ve been pretty damn lucky so far. Originally I had a 5% chance of survival and I have survived, not once, but twice. And it’s time to press that luck a third time. Just this weekend the dizziness that was determined to hold me in its clutches forever, finally let go. I am now basically dizzy-free (knock on wood). Also I told Dr. M about all my stomach issues and he said that I don’t need to take the oral chemotherapy pill this month because it is a preventative measure and is making me really sick. I also have only two more weeks of very low dosages of steroids. Once the steroids, stomach medicines, and chemotherapy poison have left my body, the stomach should sort itself out. And it already hurts a lot less, so that is good.

Although I was still pretty unsteady last week for my appointment with the doctor, he declared that he thought I was doing much better. I had to push him to give me an MRI to see how the brain is doing. This was frustrating for many reasons. For one, at the time of the meeting I didn’t feel a lot better than I did before treatment started. A lot has changed in a week. The not knowing if I’m getting better or not would have given me so much anxiety that my stomach problems would probably have become much worse. I need actual, physical proof that I am doing better. Lastly, I have been waiting four months for this information so I can better plan my life; buy plane tickets for my sister’s wedding in Costa Rica, figure out where I’m celebrating Christmas, etc. The scan doesn’t give me more radiation like the PET scan so there are no physical repercussions of the exam on my body. So yeah- I’ll take the MRI please… Unfortunately the only time this week that International Patients could schedule me for a scan was Thursday at 9:15 PM!! Super inconvenient, especially since Jon has to work the next day. All of my emails asking for an earlier time in the day, perhaps at a different location, have gone un-replied. So I guess I will be getting my MRI late Thursday night and having the results read next Tuesday. Monday is a Catholic holiday. Go figure!

And so here we are again, relying on luck to decide my future. Heads- I get to live a little longer.  Tails- well…I don’t even want to think about that. And so, my friends, I’m holding out the dice again for you to blow on before I cast them on down that table. Thank you for all the support you’ve already given me.   I truly believed it has improved my luck in the past. I hope it will continue to do so.

The “What If” Game

Cancer, Third Time's a Charm2 Comments

So it’s been about three months since my radiation treatment ended, which means that it’s time for my MRI to see how the lesions in my brain are doing. Dr. M is currently out of town, so the exam will be sometime next week between August 8-10. This scan will better inform us as to my future treatment.

The good news is I don’t seem to be doing worse. I’ve never had any headaches even though the steroids’ anti-inflammatory powers have been significantly decreased.   Apparently, consistent headaches are one of the biggest indicators that brain cancer is taking over your body. I am currently down to 5 mg of Prednisone, the gentler form of cortico steroids that I’ve been on since returning to Chile. My face and body are starting to de-puff as I decrease my steroid dosage, which I am very happy about. As I’ve mentioned in many previous blogs, the steroid weight gain made it difficult to get dressed for the day because I looked so different and practically none of my clothes fit anymore. A friend recently told me that since they hadn’t seen me in a long time they didn’t recognize me when they showed up at our door a month ago.   My face was so altered by the swelling that I was unrecognizable! But now the steroid puff has gone down a bit, and so my face looks like my face again. Thank God! On another positive note, I am currently less dizzy than I used to be. I can swivel my head to look at something without the spins attacking me. I can walk independently to destinations, as long as they are on relatively flat ground. I can climb up and down staircases that have hand railings. I can now balance on one foot to put my leg in a pair of jeans without falling over. I consider these all to be good signs.

However, despite the improvements in my health, I am still not feeling great, which worries me. For one thing, not ALL my dizziness has disappeared. When I shower I need to put my hand against the wall for support so that I will remain standing without any chance of falling. Too much activity or crowds of people really affect me. And when the dizziness successfully traps me in its cage, I have to sit down immediately. This happened a lot on my trip home. I was trying to do fun things with friends and family members but for much of the time I ended up just trying to make it through the day. This made me sad because I value my time with friends and family and I was not always able to enjoy it.

Another large problem I’ve had for the last three months is that I am extremely nauseous. I know this is probably too much information, but I’m here to tell you the truth about cancer and its side effects. For example, right now I’m taking my oral chemotherapy pill, which I have to do five days every month for a year. As a result, all I’ve been able to do the past two days is sit in the corner of the couch so I’m propped up and not laying down. I hold my hands over my bloated and painful stomach, hoping the heat from my palms will be comforting. Most of the time this makes me feel better temporarily. However, when I lie down to sleep at night the nastiness from my stomach works its way up into my throat and when I wake I run to the toilet to gag or vomit. Also, eating has been difficult. It doesn’t matter what I put in my mouth: apples, bananas, water, cereal, rice, sandwiches… it all ends in horrible indigestion, bloating, and painful cramping.   Or, if I’m unlucky, more vomiting. I hate throwing up, but I’m becoming an expert at it. Seriously sometimes the pain is so bad that I just want someone to open up my stomach and scoop it all out. I talked to Dr. M about my stomach problems during my last appointment and he felt my tummy and agreed something was wrong. He said it wasn’t uncommon for stomach problems to arise after being on steroids so long. He gave me some different medicine, but it didn’t seem to work. I texted him that I still wasn’t feeling better and he prescribed stronger stomach meds to take before my chemotherapy treatment. That seemed to work for the first two days I took my pill, but it is no longer working.   Luckily I only have one more day of the pill and then I’m going to ask Dr. Majlis if there are other options than the treatment I am currently doing, because this pill makes me feel wretched.

It’s days like today where I can do nothing but lay on the couch without moving that my brain starts to play tricks on me and I go over to the dark side. The “what ifs” creep up and begin to form dark clouds above my head. Normally I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the future because I am doing my best to live my life as normally as possible. I don’t want to think of myself as forever having cancer, but sometimes fear hits me and I worry that I’m never going to get better again.    Yesterday Jon and I were watching our millionth episode of Grey’s Anatomy, not the smartest show to become addicted to given my current circumstances.   Geena Davis’s character had to undergo brain radiation for a cancerous tumor. As they buckled her into her Freddy Krueger mask to be radiated, Jon gasped and asked, “Is that what they did to you?” I stared at the TV screen, briefly nodded, and began to cry uncontrollably. Honestly, it looked like a form of torture and I’m glad I never saw myself with the mask on.  Jon hugged me and said, “I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I wish I could trade places with you.” We held each other, knowing there was nothing we could do to change the situation. Afterwards, I attempted to shower and sat down on the side of the bed, my brain abuzz with negative thoughts. I try to be positive, but sometimes the reality of my life hits me and I feel hopeless.

“What if I never walk in a straight line again?”

“What if I can’t do simple things like shop for groceries without feeling dizzy?”

“What if I never work again?”

“What if I can’t go on hikes or walks anymore when I travel?”

“What if I wake up every morning for the rest of my life feeling nauseous?”

And the most worrisome of all…

“What if Jon gets tired of doing things for me and starts to resent me?  What if our relationship becomes more like caretaker and patient than husband and wife?” I know this would never happen because Jon is such a good man, but it is scary to think about. My current diagnosis has made it hard for me to do anything on my own and I rely on him for a lot of things.

After an hour or two of these dark thoughts I was tired of being depressed. Stupid Grey’s Anatomy for messing with my head! It is not healthy to live your life fearing the future. It is best to believe and hope that everything is going to get better. So right now that’s what I’m trying to focus on until I find out how well this latest brain radiation worked. I’ll let you know when the MRI is scheduled so we can all cross our fingers together.

Friendship

Third Time's a Charm3 Comments

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I just spent three weeks on a whirlwind trip to the United States. During those three weeks I spent time in four different cities, slept on seven different mattresses, carefully seated myself aboard eight different airplanes, and visited over 35 friends and family members. Each visit transported me to a different time in my life, and also made me realize how lucky I am to still be in touch with so many friends from around the globe.

People have often asked me, “Why is it important for you to make such an effort to see old friends? I live in the same city as Friends A and B and we rarely see each other.”

My answer to that question is, friends have always been very important to me, even before I had cancer. Friends help you to laugh through bad times and good, support you when you need it, listen to both your triumphs and failures, and find a way to resolve the conflict even when you have a disagreement.

Since I have lived abroad now for eight years, friendship has taken on a new importance in my life. It takes about nine or ten hours in a plane to travel from Dalian or Santiago to the United States, so I often only go home once a year.  To visit me requires time and expendable cash, so very few have been able to do so. When you experience a different culture far away from home it is a bonding experience. The community that you live with in that foreign place becomes your family and they are the ones that bare witness to that era of your life. No one else can really relate to the time when I lived in Spain, China, or Chile, except for the people who lived there with me and shared that experience. That is why I keep in touch with my good friends from each period of my life.

Friendship is not just about telling funny stories about the past though. It’s not just about shopping for party clothes at Forever 21, and cheering each other on during flip cup tournaments. Although having fun is definitely an essential element of friendship… Friendship is also about offering support when a friend veers from your shared life path, buys a house, and adopts the sleep-deprived lifestyle of parenthood. As most of you know, I’m not the biggest baby person in the world. My limited experience with them is they poop and cry a lot, and are extremely needy. They require a lot of time, patience, and sacrifice, that I’m not sure I possess. But it really is something to watch your friends switch from holding tightly to Red Solo cups to tiny human beings. At first it was strange to see my friends whip out their boobs in a non-Mardi Gras style atmosphere, but after awhile I got used to it. To all my friends who are now parents: I was so happy to spend time with your mini-me’s and watch what responsible, loving parents you’ve become. I’m really impressed! You even convinced me to hold a baby or two, myself, if you can believe it… Although I’m not sure I could handle being a full-time mom, I sincerely enjoyed being Auntie Eli this summer. When my niece, Harper, asked me if I could help her wiggle her loose tooth as she sat on my lap, I began to see the appeal of having kids. When a child clearly displays affection for you, it is nothing short of magic. When you hear their giggles you have no choice but to smile.

During the time that I’ve been living with metastatic breast cancer I have learned what true friendship is. Friendship is coming up with the idea of Team Eli bracelets and raising thousands of dollars to support Metavivor. Friendship is buying said bracelets for you and your family members to show your support for Team Eli. Friendship is purchasing crane earrings and necklaces as a declaration of hope and optimism. Friendship is getting thrown-up on by your childhood friend on oral chemo pills, and brushing it off as if it were nothing. Friendship is dropping everything in your life and flying 11 hours down to Chile not once, not twice, but four times in four years in order to give your friend a hug and tell her it’s going to be okay, even though it may not be.

True friends help shave your head when the chemo or radiation kicks in. They help you shop for and name your wig so the experience of losing your hair is less awful. True friends do puzzles and sit on the couch with you because you’re too weak to leave the house. They offer their arms to steady you so you don’t fall down the hills of Valparaiso or the sand dunes at Oxnard. They pretend not to notice the twenty-pound weight gain brought on by the steroids, and assure you that you look good. They celebrate your survival of treatment and illness by popping open champagne bottles.

True friendship means offering your family’s beach house as a reunion point for all of your California friends. It’s playing corn hole while donning top hats in Michigan City, Indiana, because your quirky friend found someone equally quirky to spend his life with. Friendship is watching your sister smile ear to ear as she is greeted with a tunnel of twenty-two boisterous friends at the entrance to her “Rally Ali” bachelorette party. I’m glad Ali’s been as lucky to find her people as I have.

Thank you to everyone who hosted me or went out of the way to visit with me during this summer/winter break. Even if it was only for a brief period of time, I am very glad that I was able to reconnect with so many of you. As I mentioned in my last blog, Emerson states that one of the most important keys to success in life is to “To laugh often and much”. By having you all as friends, I truly feel that I’ve achieved that.

 

Stepping Away from the Classroom

Cancer, Third Time's a Charm2 Comments

     A few weeks ago I made the difficult decision not to return to the classroom for the next school year. I wrote to the school and let them know, and just like that, I was free from my teaching obligations that I have fought tooth and nail to continue over the past three and a half years. Although I have often bemoaned my choice of careers, I was unaware of how much this decision not to teach would affect me. Because of my mixed feelings of relief and emotional heaviness, I have been unable to write about this decision until now.

A week or so ago, a friend of mine brought me a box of cards and signs that the students had made for me since my diagnosis and subsequent departure from the classroom. During the last three years, I faced many new challenges in the world of education; I taught ages and subjects that I had no prior experience with. Luckily, I learned some tricks of the trade for how to keep sixth graders engaged and on task… thank you colleagues! As I reflected on my career in teaching, I leafed through the boxes and actually studied the loot. Upon reading their notes I was impressed with the students’ ability to empathize and express concern for my health. Well, of course, this made me even sadder about my decision to step away from my role as “Ms. Timms”.

You see, leaving teaching wasn’t exactly my first choice. However, because of this third cancer diagnosis, it is, ultimately, the right one for the situation and I feel good about it. At least for a year, I need to be flexible, take care of myself, and find out what the next steps in my battle with cancer are going to be. I am optimistic that the treatment is working and that I’m still going to be around for awhile, so I have made plans up until January, but I may have to undergo surgery, or hospitalization, or who knows what else? The future is still uncertain. Keeping up with my current doctor’s schedule is like a job unto itself, so until I can predict that a little better, I really need to focus on spending my energy wisely.

I am still incredibly dizzy at times and know that I would not be able to function in my professional capacity, as I would like to. Currently it is difficult for me to walk independently for anywhere above an hour. I can’t imagine being on my feet as long as I would need to for my style of teaching to be successful. Yesterday I went into school with Jon to sign the legal documents for my departure from teaching; I only spent about three hours at school, but I was so tired I took a two-hour rest on the couch when I got home. My head is heavy and my body is lurching from side to side as I think about spending an entire day in front of a classroom full of kids. Another reason that I am pressing the pause button on my teaching career is that I hate having to burden people with suddenly finding a long-term sub to replace me, which I’ve had to do after each diagnosis. It’s not good for the kids, and it’s not good for my mental health.

So I’ve decided to relieve myself of the stress and responsibility of coercing small children to bring their pencils, homework, and notebooks to class, and stay on task, while smiling and trying not to seem frustrated. On the flip side, I’ve also detached myself from a career where students, parents, and teachers alike have freely and openly expressed their respect for me. They have also been incredibly generous with donations and fundraising, so much so that I am often left speechless. The community at my current school has made me feel like my life as a teacher has been meaningful, and therefore it is okay to take a little break. Since I don’t know if I’m going to return to the classroom in the future, I thought I should reflect upon what this job means to so many of us, and also why it’s so difficult and rewarding at the same time.

Because everyone went to school as a child, (if you didn’t, you were breaking the law…) there lies an assumption that any Tom, Dick, or Harry can teach. However, I am here to tell you that, most certainly, is not the truth. People might be able to stand in front of a class or follow a carefully constructed lesson plan. However, this does not mean that everyone can teach effectively. In my experience, often the smartest people who sailed through school have great difficulty reaching students and motivating them on a personal level.

I grew up in a teaching household, so the independent school community has always been a huge support system for me. Both of my parents taught and coached at various schools in Providence, Asheville, and Houston, and my sister and I attended those schools. This was a huge benefit of being a teacher’s child: a quality, expensive education for cheaper. The majority of our childhoods were spent at the John Cooper School in the Woodlands, Texas: a school that my parents helped build and that I probably wouldn’t recognize if I went back to visit. It be fancy! But, I had great teachers and received an excellent education. My experiences there helped to solidify the interconnectedness of being part of an educational community.

In fact, being the daughter of a teacher at my school was so much a part of my identity that I wrote my college essay about it. I remember because the admissions lady at Brown personally wrote me a postcard telling me how much she enjoyed my essay since she was also a faculty brat. I guess the experience of being a child of teachers is pretty universal. And how could it not be, when most of your middle and high school years are spent pleading with your dad NOT to chaperone the Valentines Dance or prom and basically cringing anytime Mr. Timms took the stage to give out French awards with a British accent. If you didn’t know, as some of the very few suitors brave enough to call me at home quickly learned, my dad is from England, which is very apparent the moment he opens his mouth to speak. The point of the essay, however, was not how embarrassed I was to be a faculty brat growing up; it was what I learned about myself through the experience. And what I gleaned, through all my selfish embarrassment at having my dad work at the school I grew up in, was that I’m actually exactly like him: friendly, eccentric, and stubborn to the core. Love you Dad!

I digress. My teaching career derived more from a product of necessity than as a deliberate desire. Growing up I saw how hard both my mom and dad worked. My mom quit working at the John Cooper School after a few years and began commuting to an international school in central Houston where she coached basketball. She was away a lot. Because of the length of her commute and her after school activities, she did not have time to prepare dinner, so I learned how to cook to save me and my sister from my dad’s micro waved ham steak with brown sugar sauce. Yikes! I also realized how little outward appreciation either of them received for the tough job they did every day, and I wondered why anyone became a teacher at all… Then, after four years spent studying, playing soccer, and partying, I graduated university with an expensive degree in history and Spanish and wondered what kind of job I could get with a degree like that. As I was sitting around my dorm room watching I-banking firms and government agencies hire many of the other students at my school, I had an epiphany. “I know! I can be a teacher until I figure out what I want to do with my life!” So off I embarked on my new, yet familiar career.

I started off as a high school social studies intern, teaching at a private school in Houston where each student had a laptop and brought it to school. It was definitely an eye-opening experience. Halfway through the year, this nice, obviously very smart young graduate from Georgetown, was fired and I was asked to take over his courses, so there I was, 22 years old, teaching American and European History to 17 and 18 year olds. As you might imagine, it was not a big enough age gap, as I used to look at least five years younger than I actually was. My second week of teaching, I walked into my classroom at 8 in the morning and it REEKED of marijuana. I turned around and got another teacher to verify the smell and he laughed and said in his best Southern drawl, “Yeah… you’re gonna have to do something about that…”

So back in I marched using my best Ms. Timms impersonation and surveyed the room. I found my suspects because the two students didn’t normally sit together, but today were laughing and had bottles of water on their desk. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but I took them out of the classroom anyway to question them. After boldly lying to my face, they both claimed they had no idea what I was talking about and swore they would never do anything to disrespect me like that. Well, I turned them over to the Dean of Students, and he went on a search of the car park. Turns out one of the students had a giant bag of pot in their car and two empty bottles of vodka in the backseat. I’m guessing those water bottles were not full of water…. Because of their actions, both students were expelled and sent to other schools. However, a few months later, one of the student’s parents (the fifth wealthiest Texan on the Forbes list) offered to build a new library for the school. I remember the administrator asking me if the student could come back to my class because he had specifically requested to. “Um….. no!” I thought to myself. “That would be totally inappropriate,” I eeked out to the administrator. “I would feel uncomfortable with that,” I added, as she smiled at me. I couldn’t understand why she would have even bothered to ask me, but apparently if your family has a lot of money, you can pretty much do whatever you want.

After that first crazy year in Houston I moved back to the Los Angeles area and was inexplicably hired at a prestigious private school in Palos Verdes Peninsula. This time I was the lone eighth grade social studies teacher and was hired to develop a new curriculum for the course using Grant Wiggins’s Backward Design approach to curriculum design. If you’re not in education then you probably haven’t heard of Wiggins and his philosophy, but it was very popular at the time. I didn’t have any previous experience with Grant Wiggins, curriculum, or the fancy word metacognition that was thrown around in every meeting I attended my first year there. I’m actually not even sure why they hired me in the first place since I had to buy Grant’s book in order to learn about his ideas. However, after meeting with my mentor teacher, also the department chair, every week for three years I learned a lot and my teaching improved.  My mentor will always hold a special place in my heart, because although he took his roll seriously and carefully observed me along the way, he was very supportive and his critique was intended to make me a better teacher, not to make me feel bad about myself. I credit a lot of my teaching knowledge to him. I even had both of his kids in my class and must have done an okay job, because I never received a complaint.

After three years at that school, however, I realized that if I didn’t switch careers or try something else I would be stuck being a teacher for life, something I still thought I did not want. So I stepped away from the classroom for the first time in order to go to cooking school and see if a career in catering was for me. I enjoyed cooking school and was even asked to teach the summer school program for kids. Since the school was in the middle of LA and crawling with Hollywood types, I spent a summer teaching the likes of Mel Gibson’s son how to bake challah bread, which I thought very humorous at the time since Mel had recently been arrested for drunk driving and making disparaging comments about Jews. Having a famous movie star, although bedraggled and very short, open the door to the little kitchen in Culver City and handing him his son’s baked goods was definitely something I’ll never forget.

Anyway, I enjoyed my year of cooking and catering, but decided it did NOT make a fulfilling or relaxing career. Being young and restless, I decided that I wanted to explore the world. I heard about international teaching so my husband at the time (like how I slipped that in there casually?…) and I went to a job fair in New York and ended up securing jobs in Dalian, China. We were both adventurous and up for a new experience beyond the more sedentary, married life we were beginning to establish for ourselves in California. The school in China was small and new and did not require us to have teaching certificates upon entering, so we were recruited and signed up. The caveat was that by the time the school went through its accreditation process we needed to get a teaching certificate, which we both did through six intense weeks of TTC courses that we took in London and Miami during the summers. The move to China was hard on our relationship, but this blog isn’t about that so I’ll leave that for another day. The marriage, already on rocky grounds since we were both so young, competitive, and passionate, did not last long- we were officially living in separate apartments come November. Despite the awkwardness, however, we managed to stick it out for two and a half more years, living separate (ish) lives and working together in a small community on the tip of China’s Liaoning Peninsula, about 7000 miles from friends, family, and anything else remotely comforting. I guess when you go through that, dealing with cancer really seems like a breeze because at least you can’t blame that on yourself! Although this was a tumultuous time in my life, I met Jon, a very tall kindergarten teacher much loved by students and parents alike, who has been a great comfort and in my life ever since. I also learned a lot about character, which has served me well in recent years. The good news is that my ex-husband and I survived and are still friends, and again, I learned a lot about teaching.  Professionally I got a lot of experience with curriculum design, student council, and chaperoning students during Model United Nations conferences in foreign cities.  I was also the only history teacher in the high school, so during my time there I taught at least 8 different history courses.  It was tiring but also gratifying to know that you were making a difference at the school.

After China, Jon and I decided to take the plunge and move to a different international school together. We flew from Dalian to Atlanta for four days and almost died in an airplane crash on the way there, but were lucky enough to find jobs at our current location in Santiago, Chile. I have always wanted to live in South America, and our school had an excellent reputation so we were flattered that they wanted to hire us. So we moved, and were very lucky to find a community in Chile of parents, students, and fellow teachers who have been an invaluable support throughout my battle with cancer. As I reflect over all the wonderful things the community has done on behalf of Team Eli I am often moved to tears.

More than other jobs, teaching really leaves its stamp on your identity, whether you want it to or not. It is hard to stand up in front of 70 kids each day and be inspiring, differentiate, deal with group dynamics on projects, and still get the kids and parents to like you, or at least support your decisions. It is exhausting. I am not going to miss answering a hundred questions that you just finished explaining, grading papers where it was clear that the student did not read the directions, at all or watching students be horribly mean to each other for no reason.

There are, however, many things that I am going to miss about teaching. Two weeks ago I was asked to be the guest speaker for the National Junior Honors Society at a Middle School Assembly. It was a very strange experience for me. I had not seen my students or spoken to them about my health situationnsince April  and no one really knew I was coming on campus. So I stayed back stage in the theater, seated in a chair, mainly because I was extremely dizzy and did not want to fall down, but also because I needed to focus on getting through the speech without crying. As I began, my voice wavered and I thought, “Geeze- keep it together!” About thirty seconds into the speech the auditorium went silent and I knew everyone was listening to what I was saying. It was a powerful moment for me because I have spent more than a third of my life teaching and attempting to affect change through my role as Ms. Timms. Although I didn’t mean it to, this speech kind of took on a life of its own and helped provide much needed closure on a career that I have had to step away from due to my illness. It was not a career I chose initially, but one that engulfed me completely. I am still in touch with many students who write to me about how meaningful their time was at the MUN conferences in China and Brazil and how much my classes really impacted them. I looked back at some of the cards written by students that I had to abandon after becoming ill the first time and had to wipe away some tears.

One card from a student simply stated, “Dear Ms. Timms. Why do bad things happen to good people?” and I got all choked up because after my years of studying history and analyzing the tragedies that have befallen many an underserving person, I can’t really provide an explanation for that question.

As you can see by the length of this blog post, regardless of whether my experiences teaching have been negative or positive, they have left an indelible impression upon me. I have become a better person because of all of the students that have passed through my classroom. The following is a copy of the speech I gave in case you want to read it. Apparently the staff was in tears, so I recommend having some tissues handy as well:

Thank you for inviting me here today to speak at this induction ceremony. I am particularly honored because I value the pillars that this organization stands for, such as service, scholarship, leadership, and especially, character. Being inducted into the NJHS does not only mean that you study hard and get good grades, but that you have also made important steps to becoming good human beings that other people want to work with and be around.

    As some of you know, about four years ago, something happened that really tested my character and that of my family and friends. Even though I was young and seemingly healthy, on October 1st, 2012, I was diagnosed with Stage IV, or metastatic breast cancer. Since then I’ve undergone chemotherapy, surgery, and multiple types of radiation in attempts to keep the cancer at bay. Although I have survived cancer twice now, in April it unfortunately re-metasticized in my brain, so I’ve had to step away from the classroom for a bit to take care of my health.

     During the time that cancer entered my life I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be a good person. What makes someone successful, trustworthy, courageous, brave? I know all of those questions sound heavy, but unfortunately I’ve also learned in these past four years that life is short. It’s not only important to make sure that the popular kids like you, but that your time spent on this earth is meaningful. You want people to remember you as friendly, optimistic, and hopeful…not just as the kid who got straight A’s but never helped others and only thought about themselves. Being in the classroom with you guys and helping to mold your characters has been an important part of my treatment and ultimately, my survival. What I’ve learned because of my illness is that true character really shines when times get tough, and this community certainly has pulled through for me and my very tall husband, Mr. Jon. We are both extremely grateful for everything you have done for us.

I want to leave you with a quote that has been very important in helping me find meaning in my life throughout my battle with cancer. It is by an American essayist and poet named Ralph Waldo Emerson. My sister framed this for me, and I read it every morning as I get ready for the day. I hope you will find it as inspiring as I do:

     To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether it be by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition. To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

Save Me From the Steroid Monster!

Cancer, Third Time's a Charm4 Comments

So I was in the middle of writing a moving entry about teaching when I hit a road-block. After my shower I had a good deal of trouble tugging on my freshly washed jeans in order to get dressed for the day and head to a café to finish my blog. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I acknowledge this blog entry is very superficial, as it has to do with my outwards appearance, so I’d rather just deal with the topic and move on. Plus, there’s really nothing I can do about the way I look because I need the steroids in order to survive, so it really is no use getting so upset about it. Hopefully after this public rant and rave I will stop letting it bother me so much.

I know I have moaned about the changes the steroids make to your body, but I am in the thick of it right now so it’s time to complain again. I learned yesterday at my doctor’s appointment that the type of steroid I’m taking this time is NOT the same type I took during my last treatment. It is a great deal stronger. This April I started out on 8 milligrams of dexamethasone, which seemed like a heck of a lot less than the 80 mg dosage of prednisone I began with during my first brain radiation treatment. Unfortunately though, because dexamethasone is much stronger than prednisone, it turns out my dosage is equivalent to the large dosage I was taking to ease the swelling after the first brain radiation treatment. BOOOOO! Of course, no one explained that to me, or Jon, until just now. I guess I should have looked it up, but I am a bad patient who just takes whatever medicine I am told to take. I don’t do much questioning. I figure the doctors know how best to treat me since what they have done so far has kept me alive for the last four years. Sometimes I think I am being foolhardy in allowing them to have so much control, but in other ways, I am grateful that I don’t have to really be responsible for my treatment yet. If I have further complications and have decisions to make that will affect whether I live or not, or my quality of life, then I for sure am going to research and have my say.

Speaking of research, once I find out the news about the steroid I am currently taking, I did some digging around online and here is a list of side effects of taking dexamethasone for a prolonged period of time. The fact that the list is lengthy and that I have all of the symptoms makes a lot of sense now, as I was wondering why my body is going through such drastic changes now that I am down to alternating with 2 mg or 4 mg of the pill every other day. According to drugs.com (hopefully that’s a credible source…) dexamethasone is a “Corticosteroid that prevents the release of substances in the body that cause inflammation.” My brain radiation treatment definitely created a lot of inflammation, or cerebral edema, so that’s why I’m taking such a strong steroid. The symptoms of taking the pill over a long period of time include:

  1. Changes in the shape or location of body fat especially in your face, neck, breast, back, and waist- This morning I took a long, hard look in the mirror and checked all the boxes for this symptom!   The sobbing bullfrog with a reverse mullet that looked back at me in the mirror is also what inspired this blog post.  The changes in body fat make up the phenomenon I refer to as “full-on steroid puff phase”, which I am firmly entrenched in. My neck has grown about three sizes larger than it used to be and my cheeks are so puffy they are intruding upon my line of vision. I can see them when I look down. My jaw is tense and tight, making it hard to sleep and impossible to comfortably lay my head on hard or bulky pillows.   My eye sockets look like little pins swimming amongst my puffy cheeks. Also, I forgot about this from the last bout with steroids, but my breast implant has now moved up into my armpit. I’ve tried to massage it back down because it hurts, but I don’t want to go around touching my chest every twenty minutes. Whenever I move or sit up in bed the chest muscles contract and push the implant up into my arm pit/ shoulder more and I can feel it moving. The whole thing is uncomfortable and painful, not to mention it looks bad.
  1. Sleep Problems/Insomnia– I try to sleep through the night but usually I pass out on the couch right after dinner from about 7-10 so that prevents me from being tired at bedtime. It also causes me to sleep through and miss whatever movie or Netflix show I have carefully selected for viewing. I then usually wake up about 3 or 4 in the morning and am awake till Jon’s alarm goes off for school when I go back to bed and sleep for a few more hours. I recently attended a ladies weekend at the beach and I totally fell asleep on the couch after dinner while all the ladies talked and drank wine around me. I don’t know how I couldn’t hear them, but I was completely dead to the world. Yesterday Jon asked Dr. M if I could have some sleeping pills because he would like for me (him) to be able to sleep through the night. I guess my attempts to allow him to sleep are not really working…
  1. Acne and Dry Skin- The acne has gotten better, but I occasionally develop painful pimples in the most inopportune places. Mainly inside (OUCH!) and on top of my nose. I have also developed this rash on my legs that looks like little purple dots all over my shins and calves. Gross. If it doesn’t get better by tomorrow I will definitely tell the doctor about it.
  1. Slow wound healing- I fell down, gracefully of course, while “hiking” with Randi at the Puma Lodge and I still have a purple/black bruise on my shin from where a piece of wood lying on the ground attacked me out of nowhere. Also, every time the nurses do a poor job extracting blood it takes a long time for the bruise to go away. On Monday the nurse taking my blood decided to just put a band-aid on my wound, instead of a cotton swab AND a band-aid, and I bled all over my sleeve. Fun times!
  1. Dizziness/Spinning Sensation- Not only is my tumor making me dizzy, but so are the steroids. Awesome! I can do more things independently but I would like to walk to the grocery store whenever I need to pick up something, instead of worrying about how much energy it might sap from me, or how weird I must look to strangers lurching around on the sidewalk while trying to balance the groceries…

6.  Nausea/Stomach Pain/Bloating– I’ve mentioned the intense amounts of stomach medicine I’m on to combat the wear and tear of the steroids, so I’m not so much nauseous as completely bloated. After eating, my stomach is so full of air it is as tight as a drum. It sticks out about 2 inches more than my chest, which is never a good look for anyone. Loose and flowy shirts are the order of the day. It is not fun and definitely noticeable. Some days I wish I could just stick a giant pin in my stomach and slowly let the air out like a tire so I can have some relief

7.  Rapid Weight Gain– Since April 19th I have gained 13 pounds. That’s like a half pound a day…. Today, when I could barely put my jeans on over my thighs and muffin top I weighed myself. Bad idea! More sobbing bull frog…

8.  Hair Loss: (I added this one as it isn’t a symptom of steroids but an effect of the brain radiation treatment.) When I appear in public you guys all see Heidi, my new wig, which makes me look more normal, but my hair beneath is quite grotesque looking. The front and top of the head continues to grow hair (I only lost the hair where they radiated), but I am completely bald on the back half of my head, which is not a flattering look. I am going to continue to grow out my hair though, because my hair dresser said that in a few months she will hopefully be able to put in extensions in order to cover the back of the head, so fingers crossed that I will be able to sport my own locks come next January. That would be fabulous!

Alright, so after listing all the symptoms and documenting what has been happening to my body over the last month and a half, I feel a little bit better. You readers may not, but I do. One of the other symptoms of taking the drug is “mood alteration” (code for depression), so that explains the sobbing bullfrog that appeared in the mirror as I surveyed the steroid damage yesterday. What I’m most sad about is that I was hoping to de-puff by the time I went home to the states to see my family and friends, but Dr. M has me on a very slow decline to be completed when I come back to Chile in July. Also, every single website about steroids mentions how dangerous it is to suddenly stop taking them because it causes withdrawal, so I need to follow his instructions carefully. This means that I will have to find some new summer outfits for my fuller figure when I go back home because I hate looking fat in my clothes.  It sucks because I’m in a wedding with my college friends right when I get home and I haven’t seen those friends in about ten years or so.   I don’t want them to see me looking like an inflatable chipmunk. I will also look chubby cheeked and wide in my sister’s bachelorette party pics, and I will most certainly not enjoy showing off my steroid fat in my bathing suit, even though I am definitely looking forward to going swimming and being tan.

I’m not fishing for compliments here and I know all of these things are extremely superficial, but I didn’t want you guys to think I’m an angel who never complains. But you get the point: I hate steroids and I hate what they’ve done to my body… The symptoms will get better in a few months, but until then, please excuse me if my steroids and I scarf down all the ice cream, hamburgers, buffalo wings, and fries within a ten mile radius of my person while I am home.

Living with Cancer

Cancer, Third Time's a Charm5 Comments

     When I last saw Dr. M he instructed me that there was nothing I could do for the next few months except to live my life normally. To him I say, that is almost impossible to do considering. It is extremely difficult to relax, stay calm, and go on living your life while simultaneously holding one’s breath so tightly you think you will asphyxiate with stress and worry. As you can imagine, in the time that I’ve been diagnosed, I have experienced some of life’s highest and lowest points. Overall, I think both Jon and I have done a good job of coping with the situation and being as hopeful and positive as possible, but occasionally, the juxtaposition of all the bad news with the pretense that we are both doing okay has left me reeling.

As I mentioned in my previous blog, my mom came down for two weeks, as did my dad. They overlapped for a week so we were able to spend some time together which was nice. I really enjoyed the visit with my parents, as they were able to keep me grounded while taking my mind off of what was going on. They did such a good job that right now, everything that happened the past month seems like a dream instead of reality. I’m guessing that not thinking too hard about my situation has helped me to survive. However, I also realized how much strain my disease has put on my parents, as they are constantly worried about me. They tried not to, but the worry showed on their faces and in their mannerisms. My parents are not overly emotional people so it felt odd to hug and kiss them, but the occasion called for it from time to time, so we did. It made me feel a little helpless and guilty, especially having to hold onto them to keep from falling over like an old lady. It is so wonderful having parents who are willing to drop everything and fly nine hours south to Chile in order to be with their daughter, but it is hard knowing that you need them to be here because you have cancer again and it won’t leave you alone.

Luckily, during the three weeks we were also able to do a little sightseeing, which you know I love. National Geographic had this excellent exhibition in town of their 50 most iconic photographs, which was a really interesting visit, even though I was uber dizzy and could barely support myself. My mom also wanted to go to the Open Air Museum where graffiti artists have painted the sides of their apartment with these huge murals in order to beautify their community. We went on Mother’s Day, a Sunday, and they were having a giant market in the middle of the street. The murals only covered about a six-block walk, but due to my dizziness it was difficult for me to maneuver past the other pedestrians on the sidewalk and families shopping for veggies and random trinkets.

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Nat Geo Photo Exhibit

The next week we were able to take my dad to this great little hotel in Pichilemu, 8 al Mar, which is right on the ocean. During our stay we relaxed, enjoyed two sunny days and gorgeous sunsets, ate some delicious food, and explored the black sand beaches where surfers come from all over to catch the waves. And the weather wasn’t too cold either, which I was a little concerned about, it being the end of fall and all. On the way to Pichilemu we were also able to have a delicious lunch at Casa Silva, a winery that both Jon and I think cooks some of the best wood fire steaks I’ve had here in Chile.  The setting is idyllic: a beautiful two- story country house with a porched-in dining room, overlooking a perfectly manicured polo field. As I sipped my Late Harvest and gobbled up all the fattening food, I thought to myself, life could be worse! It was hard for me to hold my head up in the car for that long but great to get away and be reminded of how beautiful my adopted country is. During our first few years here we constantly traveled to new places to see as much of the landscape as possible, but we haven’t done as much of that in recent years. It has been nice to visit new places and also revisit our favorite haunts with friends and family who come to stay. Sometimes it makes me feel like I’m just avoiding the reality of the situation, but it’s helping me to breath and deal with life.

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Fall in Chile
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Me and Dad at Casa Silva
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Panorama Sunset Shot in Pichilemu
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Our hotel at the beach, 8 al Mar
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Dad and Jon at lunch in Pichilemu

On Sunday my dad left to go back home, and on Monday I had a PET scan exam, to see if my regular three-week immunotherapy treatment is still preventing the cancer from returning and spreading in the other organs below the brain. Jon had to take off work again to drive me to the appointment, which lasted three hours! In case you don’t know, a PET Scan or CT exam is a type of nuclear imaging that scans your body in order to determine whether molecular activity is present.   In layman’s terms, the examt shows whether the cancer cells are spreading or not. Because of my current situation it was important to get the exam to know whether I needed to change my regular treatment for the rest of the body or not. I still have lesions in my brain and won’t know how effective the radiation treatment was for another two months, so that’s why I’m still holding my breath and will be until that MRI result in August.

I forgot how much I don’t like the PET scan. You have to go into this dungeon-like room on the bottom floor of the clinic and then head to these two lazy boy chairs equipped with headphones, blankets and an outdated sound system so that you can “relax” and sit for an hour while the radiation and suero, a water solution that makes it slightly less poisonous, travels through your body. The nurses who administered the drugs were very young looking, which made me think of how incompetent and lust-filled the young doctors and nurses are on Grey’s Anatomy are (a show I have been binge watching since my diagnosis. It’s very addicting!).   One of the ladies attempted to find a vein in my arm in order to drip the radiation into my body. It seemed like it was going okay and didn’t hurt too much until the other nurse came to hook me up to the radiation machine, and managed to spray me and the chair with a mixture of my blood and suero. Needless to say I’ve been left with a GIANT purple and black bruise on my forearm, a reminder of the reality of being a cancer patient. During the exam I was able to wear my own clothes but I had to take off everything metallic including my bra and wedding rings, which seem to have swollen on to my fingers due to the steroids. I had a lot of trouble getting them off.

You have to fast for the exam, so by this time I had been up for hours without any food and was absolutely ravenous. Steroids make you hungry all the time. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and absolutely crave the most fattening or sugary foods. I usually don’t eat desserts at all and now I am obsessed with them. This led to a baking spree in which I made these delicious chocolate chip cookies from my new Food and Wine Cookbook, the Best of the Best. They take the best recipes from the best cookbooks of the year, so it is an amazing collection of recipes all in one convenient cookbook. As I raised my arms above my head for the twenty minute exam, the cookies danced in my head and on the roof of the metallic exam tube. Despite my arms going numb from the uncomfortable position I had to hold them in, I practically drooled all over myself. The nurse who gave me the exam was about as cold and unfriendly as any nurse could possibly be. I hadn’t taken off my pants because the other nurse had just told me to just take off the bra. I had forgotten about the metal button and zipper on the pants so hadn’t removed them. The nurse clucked disappointingly at me, lifted my butt up, ripped my pants off me on the examining board and pulled them down to my shoes. I felt like an exposed piece of meat and was horrified at how inhumane it all was. News to nurses like Christina Yang: a little bedside manner and compassion goes a long way… I tried to ask her how often she has to do this exam each day as I can imagine it must very dull and repetitive. She didn’t even respond to my attempt at being friendly.

After about twenty minutes of being inside the whirring machine, they slide you out and hook you up to the contrast solution via the IV in your arm so they can read your nuclear activity. The contraste hurt going in and then my body got all hot and tingly, a strange sensation that anyone who has taken an exam like that will remember vividly. When they put me back in the machine, they made me breath normally and then hold my breath for intervals of time so they could get an accurate read. I tried not to think about the fact that I am 34 years old and I have already had a pet scan four times. By the time I was done, I was more than ready to erase those memories as quickly as possible. Thanks, Nurse Jackie, for not lowering the board so I could touch the floor and making me jump off of it to pull my pants back on… humiliating!

Jon and I went back in on Wednesday to get the results of the PET Scan. The weather was particularly ominous that day. It was so foggy that you couldn’t see anything in front of your face: a perfect day to get bad news. We went up to Dr. M’s office on the 9th floor and the view from the windows was a complete white-out. I was very nervous because several friends of mine with cancer received bad results from exams this week, so I didn’t have a lot of hope. Luckily Dr. M greeted us at the end of the hallway and didn’t mince words. I gripped onto Jon’s hand as I lurched from one side of the hallway to another. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious that I was still very dizzy. Dr. M didn’t wait long before grinning and announcing, “Your PET Scan results came back clear!!!”   Jon and I entered the room and breathed a small sigh of relief.   We discussed the new treatment of the drugs. They are switching my daily hormone therapy pill to one that is more effective at preventing the spread of cancer in the brain. I will also be taking an oral chemotheraphy pill again for five days a month starting with my regular immunotherapy treatment on Wednesday, so I have some nausea to look forward to.

The main thing I wanted to do at the appointment (besides receive good news about the scan, of course) was set a schedule to decrease my steroid usage so I can start to deflate and look normal again. The steroid I take every day is meant to help ease the pain of the swelling in the brain from the lesions and radiation treatment. Although I am taking a much lower dose of steroids than last time (8 milligrams as opposed to 40) I have definitely suffered the same effects of steroid usage. Two weeks ago my face broke out like an acne-ridden teenager for a few days. I had so many painful pimples on my nose that I looked like Rudolph. It was all I could do to keep Jon’s fingers at bay!

In the span of about three days this week, my cheeks and neck also ballooned to full on steroid puff face. This was disappointing because I had recently lost a lot of weight and was fitting into outfits that I hadn’t worn since my twenties. No such luck now! My jaw is so painful because at night all I do is squeeze it tight and create tension around the muscles. When I get dressed I look incredulously in the mirror and envision a football player or bullfrog with no neck. My head rests on a giant blob of flesh and the cheeks are so wide. It is no longer fun to get ready for the day because I know that no matter what I do, I’m not going to look good. Jon took a picture of me yesterday and I had three chins. Not lying. When I look in the mirror I’m like, who the hell is that?! My friends and husband are so nice to say they don’t notice the swelling, and that I’m still pretty, but I have eyes, people, and I am vain. I can see that I am not looking my best.   I know this is not the end of the world, but the visual change in my appearance reminds me that the cancer is real.   The puffiness should go down over time as I decrease the steroid usage, but that is going to take a few weeks. I hope I will deflate before my trip home in June so that I don’t look ridiculous for my sister’s bachelorette party pictures, but if I don’t I guess I will deal since I don’t have any choice.

This week also marked the loss of my hair, which started falling out in clumps in the back whenever I showered or touched my head. I was trying to keep my natural hair going as long as possible, but so much fell out at the nape of the neck where I was radiated, that my husband said I could no longer go out like that in public. (And if Jon says something like that… you better believe he means it). From the front, which is what I was looking at, the hair still looks good and full but from the back you can see patches of my scalp and I look like a mangy dog. I did not see this until I looked at it with a mirror. I’ve decided not to shave the whole head, and instead sport a reverse mullet because my hairdresser says that in a few months I might be able to get extensions to cover the back of my head. My goal is to have my natural hair by the time Ali’s wedding roles around in January, but until then I will be wearing my new wig.

I decided to splurge (quality wigs are NOT cheap) because I have been wearing my old wig, Betty, now for three and a half years and I’m tired of her. The hair is falling out so you can see the scalp of the wig. There is not much you can do to style it due to the length, and I don’t want to be strawberry blonde anymore. So, I successfully took a taxi and went to the wig store by myself the other day (YAY! Independence!). While sipping tea I tried on a few. Although it was expensive, it was important to my morale to have a new wig and Jon let me buy it. The new hair looks a lot like the other wig but it is a darker, chocolate color with highlights. I love the color! Plus the wig fits better on my head, the bangs are very natural, and I can pull pieces back from my face to take away from the mushroom hair that was making my steroid cheeks seem even wider somehow. I am currently taking suggestions for names for the new wig… I’m thinking Mable, as that was my bowling name in China, but I’m definitely open to suggestions.  Feel free to leave them in the comments at the bottom…

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New wig. Let’s give her a name!

On the bright side, I also had some very fun and important events this week that made me feel like myself again amidst all the stress of the PET scan. On Wednesday night, after I received the good news about the clean scan we celebrated Renea’s birthday at a well-known restaurant in town: Astrid y Gaston. The food was delicious this time and they were making up for a previously poor experience so all our dishes and drinks were comped.   We had a lovely, joyful time. The next night I got my nails done at the mall which I haven’t done since I was diagnosed, and was able to walk the thirty minutes from the mall to my friend’s apartment for the final book club of the year. It felt important to be able to do these tasks even though I had trouble staying upright when us pedestrians had to stop for cars at one of the crossroads.

I also seem to have discovered a renewed interest in food and cooking. I now plan on trying a new recipe a week to expand my repertoire and cook more modern style food. I have also been inspired by Top Chef, which is another show I’ve been been binge watching on Hulu Plus. It makes me happy. We have made some delicious meals at home recently and I know that will continue. I plan to post the successful recipes on the blog so you guys can give them a try at home too.

In addition to modernizing and branding this blog-site thanks to the free tips from the Blogging U course I took online, I also have been inspired to start a new blog about Santiago: things to do, places to eat, shop, etc. I am envisioning reviews as well as many top five lists. We are currently coming up with the format and title for that blog, but be on the lookout. Again, taking suggestions for names. I want the word “Gringa” in the title. If you have suggestions, leave them in the comment section below please. The restaurant section is going to be called Santiago Bites and will have a rating system based on bites according to how much we enjoyed our meal.

Anyway, there is a lot to look forward to in this next chapter of my life, although I do so with trepidation. I can really only think forward to about September break because I have no idea what the MRI will say, but September seems like a long time a way to me now. I’ve had to change my perception of having plans and goals and just living each day as it comes. The end of the year social calendar with despedidas (farewell parties) and other events is getting quite full and soon we’ll be back in the states to visit Jon’s family and then I am going to LA to see my friends at the beach, and Portland to help throw my sister’s bachelorette party over the 4th of July weekend. It’s going to be busy, but fun. I can’t wait!

The last thing I wanted to do in this post is give a big thank you to the members of Team Eli and all those who read this blog. I hope everyone will breath a small sigh of relief with me that I’m not going to get worse or require any more treatment in the next two months until we see how effective this recent radiation treatment was. I am supposed to get less dizzy and nauseous as the tumor shrinks, so if I remain dizzy, I guess that will be a bad sign. But I am hopeful. Dr. M explained that he was telling me at noon that this was the current treatment plan he could offer, but that the research was changing so much that the treatment could change by that afternoon. Already new and less harmful therapies have emerged for other breast cancer types. The doctors are looking for a new treatment that will prevent HER+ cancer cells from moving up to the brain. So cross your fingers and hope that those brilliant scientists at Johns Hopkins come up with a better way to treat metastatic breast cancer so that I can live a longer, healthier life. Even though I try not to think about it, I realize that the rest of my living will always be associated with cancer. This is a sad and devastating truth because my husband and I did not envision this life for ourselves. However, I have also realized I don’t have to let cancer rule me. I don’t have to take the step to fully revert into cancer land but I do know that my future is uncertain, so I will continue to hold my breath uneasily at times.  My greatest hope is that I can make the time I am given as meaningful as possible. I hope you all will be able to do the same. Much love!