Last Day of Chemotherapy

Hello Life Savers!

We did it! We tackled six rounds of chemotherapy and 25 blasts of radiation and came out on top! I had my last day of chemotherapy and external radiation for cervical cancer and lymph nodes March 6, 2013. That was one of the best days of my life, right up there with my engagement day, my wedding day, and witnessing the birth of my nephew, Max. I was filled with joy and hope! Of course, I dressed as Wonder Woman for the occasion because I truly felt like a super hero.

Here I am with my super hero, Charlie, at radiation:

With Dr. Rad (his real name is Dr. Greenberg, but being the best radiation doctor a girl could hope for, he'll always be Dr. Rad to me) and his amazing, loving, and hilarious NP, Pam:

 With Hopi, the sweetest nurse who always cries tears of joy whenever I share stories of all of you with her:

 And with the dream team, my radiation techs Kathleen and Tim, who made it happen five days a week:

It was bittersweet leaving radiation that day. How do I thank all these wonderful people for saving my life? I love these people with all my heart and promise to spread as much joy and caring to others as they have done for me.




Off to chemo, for four or five fun-filled hours of watching IV bags empty into my veins. When I finished and walked back to the lobby I got a standing ovation from my ever-loving Charlie and my beautiful sister, Erica. What a feeling! No cameras allowed in the chemo center, but here we are in the parking lot:

Then it was off to lunch. Just to be clear, I dressed as Wonder Woman not because I feel like her most days, but because I wanted people around me to see this crazy girl and want to know my story. I want people to know that you can get through something like this and still come out strong. The whole point was to inspire others, and I got to do that all day long. What a blessing! What I didn't expect was how many cancer survivors I would meet and how much inspiration I would gain from them. Here are a some pictures of us and a few friends we made a lunch:

This woman is a 33-year survivor with her husband, a 20+ year cancer survivor:

 After lunch, I just couldn't stop the party. I know they tell you to rest, rest, rest, but my spirits were soaring, so we went to Zumba instead! Here I am with Mary, who lovingly crocheted me this teal and white blanket. Mary prayed the entire time she crocheted, and when Charlie touched the blanket for the first time he said he had a physical sensation of love flow through his body. I'm so grateful I get to wrap myself in this Love every day!

After Zumba we had a celebratory dinner then came home and I got to really express my joy with Charlie and Erica. 

I had bought six cancer awareness bracelets. Every time I'd come home from chemo I put a bracelet around a beautiful crystal rose that some of my specials students gave me. I did the same thing with 25 beads for each radiation treatment, except the beads (which are super small) went in these humungous wine glasses, so it doesn't look as impressive as it really is. Here are pictures of me putting the last bracelet on the rose and the last bead in the wine glass. These photos were captured in real time while I was pouring tears of joy, so even though I look upset I'm actually totally elated:

 Charlie was just as thrilled as I was, as you can see in these beautiful photos:

 Lastly, here I am celebrating with my wonderfully supportive sister, Erica:

Erica is technically, by IQ standards, a genius. It's so cool having a genius for a sister because I can share concerns with her and she often has an extremely relevant and helpful perspective.

About two months before I was diagnosed with cancer I woke up one morning with an overwhelming feeling that I wasn't going to be around much longer. I had this intuitive kind of knowing that I was going to die soon (within the next year or two). I'd never experienced anything like that before, but the feeling was so strong it made me eager to contact a couple of people from my past just to let them know how much they mean to me. I also made an extra effort to share with Charlie and my family how important they are to me.

I didn't tell too many people about my experience, not only because it was really depressing, it also sounds like the talk of a crazy woman. I did, however, share it with Erica. We were on the phone, she was trying to get dinner ready, and she was mediating a disagreement between two of her three boys when I sprang it on her. Genius that she is, she had the most insightful response: "Maybe it's not that you're going to die, Laurie. Maybe it's that you'll have a rebirth of some kind." 

I feel like that comment has helped save my life, especially during the more trying times of my treatment.  The fact that she said it before any of us knew about the "c" word makes it all the more impactful.  I leaned on it the day I got the cervical cancer diagnosis. I learned on it the day we found out the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. I'm leaning on it right now as I type this because I haven't had the greatest of weeks.  When I get scared and think the cancer isn't going away (which doesn't happen often, but it does happen), I think: "No! I'm filled with too much Love to let cancer touch me. I'm not dieing, I'm having growing pains. This is all part of my rebirth." Then I'm saved, the fear subsides and is immediately replaced by hope. And in hope springs comfort and beauty.

Here I am telling Erica how grateful I am for her wisdom, and how much I credit her for helping to save my life:

 And that, my friends, concludes this post. I'll write soon when I'm feeling a little better. For those of you out there praying for me and sending me loving energy, what I need right now are thoughts of bone marrow producing loads of white blood cells and my body making tons of red blood cells. Thank you so much. Your support is holding up right now. I love you!

Love and Light,
Laurie

P.S. - If you'd like to leave a comment, it'll be much easier if you go here instead of trying to do it through Blogger. If the link doesn't work, just go to:
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Simply scroll to the bottom of the update you want to comment on and hit "comment." I love hearing from you. You're love keeps me alive!

Top Reasons Why I'm Grateful For Being Diagnosed With Cervical Cancer

I've thought long and hard about whether or not to write this post. I'm sensitive those who have been touched by cancer, and I'm concerned that this post may offend some people. We are all very different - each and every one of us - and that's one of the elements what makes this world such a wonderful place. So this post is simply my experience with cancer. In no way do I expect or believe that others on a similar walk (or "battle") should feel the same way I do. We all have different bodies, different coping mechanisms, and different backgrounds. I have friends who are downright angry about having cancer. I have friends and loved ones who are, for lack of a better word, pissed that I am having to deal with cancer.  I love and respect all of them and their experiences immensely. So just as I respect them and their choices, I ask that you respect me and mine.  I ask this because I am the opposite of angry or pissed about being diagnosed with cancer, I am, in fact, grateful beyond measure.  Here's why, in no particular order:

• All of my friendships and relationships are stronger and richer now.
• I get to fall in love with my husband all over again.
• I love myself more.
• People know me better.
• My family is making friends with my friends.
• I've met and had the privilege of being treated by some of the greatest medical professionals in the world. (I'm talking to you: Dr. Greenburg, Dr. Banta, Dr. Danforth, Debbie, Hopi, Aunt Kathy, Tim, Pam, Rachel, Shelby and Lisa.)
• I have an instant bond now with thousands and thousands of people, simply because we've all been touched by cancer.
• My life has more meaning.
• I get to inspire people.
• I get to make a difference in a new way.
• I get a free Brazilian for the duration of my treatment. (Not exactly a Brazilian, but I haven't had to do any grooming down below thanks to radiation.)
• I'm learning how to stick up for myself.
• I found Wonder Woman and Mr. Clean
• Both my sisters were able to come visit me from out of state. My dad has been down three times and my mom is coming out at the end of March. Wow! I love them and have missed them so much!
• I'm inspired to create a new dance fitness class for cancer patients and caregivers, free of charge. (Give Charlie a call at Party On! Fitness for details: 760-668-6245.)
• I get to cry tears of gratitude on a daily (mostly hourly) basis.
• Red lights don't matter. Weather doesn't matter. Most stupid things I used to complain about are completely irrelevant to me anymore.
• I'm learning how to blog and am thrilled that people are touched by my words.
• My dad is proud of me.
• My mom is proud of me.
• My husband is proud of me.
• My sisters and brother are proud of me.
• I think I'm awesome! (Not conceited awesome, but awesome like someone I'd want to be friends with.)
• I'm empowered.
• I got licensed to teach Zumba Sentao while I was going through chemo and radiation treatment - and I completed the class!
• Flowers are more beautiful to me now.
• If joy were a needle in a haystack I know I could find it.
• Only excellent, super amazing people are showing up in my life (that means all of you reading this).
• I've gotten more quality time with my cats.
• Although we've always been close, my family has gotten even closer through this experience.
• Johanna Sanches rocks my world.
• My Zumba family has held me so tightly I've felt safe every step of the way.
• No cooking, no cleaning for six weeks straight! (Not that I did much anyway, but this time it's been guilt-free!)
• (I don't even have to clean the cat box.)
• I'm getting to know my family in Iowa that I hadn't really known since I was seven years old.
• I listen to myself. 
• I trust myself to do what's best for me.
• I get to celebrate two birthdays every year.
• I'm a better Reggaeton dancer because I can finally feel the music!
• Everyday is a reason to celebrate!

This list is just the start. I'll keep adding to it as ideas pop into my head.

Again, I apologize if this post offends anyone, that is not my intention. I just want to share that I have gotten more out of being a cancer patient than cancer has gotten from me.

Love and Light,

Laurie

P.S. - If you'd like to leave a comment, it'll be much easier if you go here instead of trying to do it through Blogger. If the link doesn't work, just go to:
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Simply scroll to the bottom of the update you want to comment on and hit "comment." I love hearing from you. You're love keeps me alive!

Cervical Cancer Means Never Having To Wear The Same Outfit More Than Once

Okay, so this heading is a bit misleading but, in my case anyway, there is quite a bit of truth to it. The Universe has a great sense of humor, and I got to experience it first hand last week.  You've all probably seen the shows where someone makes a wish to a genie, only to discover the genie needed additional clarity to realize the true desires of the wish maker.  For instance, the lucky guy says he wants to "paint the town red" for a great night out, so the genie hands him a brush and a bucket of red paint rather than the keys to a Ferrari with Heidi Klum in the passenger seat. Last week, I was that guy.



It was Valentine's week, after all.  Even with the most positive of attitudes, the thought had crept in to my mind that this could be my last year to celebrate Valentine's Day with my husband, Charlie. (I don't dwell on thoughts like these, but they do pass through my mind from time to time. My doctors have told me that the chemotherapy and radiation we are doing now is an all or nothing deal, so if it doesn't work there are no other options for me.) That being said, I wanted to make our Valentine's the most memorable experience yet.

I planned ahead and figured Saturday night would be a great night to celebrate since I'd have had a day off from radiation and enough chance to recover from Wednesday's chemo. So I made the most romantic dinner I could think of:  reservations at Morton's. We'd actually never been to Morton's, but it's a "fancy" restaurant with a great reputation, and any night out would be better than my usual cup of broth that seems to be my dinner of choice for now.

Charlie spent the afternoon with his son (our "son"), and when he came home he found me all dressed up in a white gown I'd worn to my 10th high-school reunion. (Cancer: the world's quickest diet!) Even though I haven't lost all my hair, I decided to wear a really cute wig just because it's a heck of a lot easier than washing my hair these days. I made time to put on a full face of glamor makeup and off we went to celebrate! Feeling giddy, this was the first couple's time we'd made for ourselves since the diagnosis. I was so grateful for a boost in energy, I just knew God was going to make it a night to remember.  And He did.

Morton's was kind enough to honor my request for a booth, and we were situated in a great people-watching spot. Charlie looked so handsome as we dabbled through our soup and salad. We made sure to order the souffles before the entrees came so we wouldn't miss out on their famous dessert. Suddenly, half way through or meal I started feeling very dizzy. We decided we'd better leave. That's when I lost consciousness and left Charlie to call for 911 while he watched his unresponsive wife start convulsing at the table. The grand finale was when I vomited up my lobster bisque all over what had been my beautiful white gown and Morton's lovely white table cloth.  The whole episode only lasted about a minute, and I returned to feeling well before the ambulance had arrived. Our servers were quick to package up the remaining (non-digested) food and pull our little Prius up to the front door. They even offered me a table cloth to cover myself. We got home, polished off the souffles, and Charlie spent the remainder of our romantic evening hovered over the bathtub scrubbing dinner out of my dress.  Not exactly the candles and passion I had envisioned, but quite a memorable evening indeed.  Thanks for listening, Universe. I'll be a bit more direct next time. (Just so you know, my MRI later in the week came back clear. The "event" was most likely due to an electrolyte imbalance.)

Not all was lost. Valentine's Day itself wasn't until Thursday. We had another chance! Typically, Thursdays and Fridays are my most challenging days because Wednesday's chemo has a way of making me feel like there's a big elephant in the room for about 72 hours. Only my elephant isn't just in the room, he's actually standing on top of me, doing a little dance, roaring loudly and waving his trunk. But it was Valentine's Day, and I had to make it up to Charlie after giving him the scariest night of his life just days before. So, prior to radiation, we decided to have a nice little lunch. Normally, I eat after radiation, since the beams have to pass through my intestines to reach my cervix and those radiation beams don't discriminate. But what's one little meal?...On Valentine's Day?

For those of you who know me, it won't come as too much of a surprise to read that I got all dressed up for the occasion.  I put on some cute pants with hearts tie dyed into them, some furry pink leg warmers, a top that declares "Luckiest Woman Alive," and a crazy pink wig. I looked perfect! (Well, maybe if I were 12 instead of 42, but still....) So, a nice little lunch followed by some radiation, and off we left for our 30-minute drive home. Then, BAM! The Universe I so love decided to make absolutely certain we would remember the week. Diarrhea. Diarrhea like I've never had before. Filling my cute little heart pants with more junk in the trunk than they were meant to handle. We're racing down the freeway while I'm hurrying to remove my furry pink leg warmers and red boots before my liquified lunch could reach them. For 20 minutes I balanced my legs on the dashboard and my arms on the seat, using all my might to not let my booty touch anything. When we finally made it home my pants went right into the trash.

And that's why having cervical cancer means never having to wear the same outfit more than once!

Pre-Puke Pics:

And, here is the pre-poop pic:

Love you all! Big hugs for your continued support!!

Laurie

P.S. - If you'd like to leave a comment, it'll be much easier if you go here instead of trying to do it through Blogger. If the link doesn't work, just go to:
https://www.mylifeline.org/lauriethrives/default.cfm?page=myupdates.cfm
Simply scroll to the bottom of the update you want to comment on and hit "comment." I love hearing from you. You're love keeps me alive!

Cervical Cancer Is Giving Me Multiple Personalities

I consider myself to be a genuinely nice person...sometimes so nice there have been times in my life where I felt more like a doormat than a human being. It takes a lot to make me angry. I don't have a "Mom" voice. The idea of having to discipline another person is out of my realm of comprehension.  I always thought my inability to discipline is why God never gave me children. He tried giving me two cats, who have taught me unconditional love, but they know no rules and have no boundaries. I didn't pass the "Hey, you're going to do what I tell you to do" test. That voice has been one I've heard from various people in my life, but never once had I heard it from myself.  That is, until cancer decided to set up shop in my cervix and lymph nodes.

I've got two new friends living inside my body I never knew were there.  And I love them. Here's how I found them.  Monday (2/4/2013) I woke up feeling great! If you read my last post, "Your Prayers Are Working," you'll know why.  I went to my radiation treatment where the techs gave me a new nickname: "Happy Hour!"  I was feeling really strong and very much like my healthy Self.

Because I'm going through chemotherapy, I get my blood drawn once a week to make sure I'm healthy enough to take in the Cisplatin. I've got my favorite "vampire" at the lab because she's always had success with my veins. I was happy to see her, but this time my veins didn't cooperate. She finally got one, but it was not without a lot of pain, bruising, and frustration.

I used to have bad veins, but ever since I started working out they've been awesome. Since the doctors do not want me to get my heart rate up I'm no longer exercising, but I diligently I stay very hydrated and bring a blanket to keep myself warm - two tips I learned to make blood draws easier. Lately, however, that hasn't been enough for success with the chemo IV's or or the blood draws. It's a strange sensation. My mind fully believes I am already completely healed, but my body doesn't respond the way my mind feels.  So when the blood draw became such a challenge, and I was only heading into week two of treatment, I freaked out a little bit. I got scared that my body was already going downhill this early in the game. I was also really sad thinking "this is just the beginning." Suddenly, I felt a feeling I don't recall ever experiencing organically.  It was strong and thunderous and determined. And it said in a very commanding voice: "Not fear, FIERCE!"

That's when I met her:  my inner Diva! Oh how I love this woman within me. She sizzles with fire. She walks tall and proud in giant platform heels like there are a thousand men walking behind her, and she owns every word she says. She even uses cuss words! And she is determined to stomp any cancer cell out of my body. She says all day long, "This is my house! You don't belong here!" Then she stomps, kicks, flicks her long sexy hair back with her arms crossed in front of her Amazonian body and says, "Now get the f*ck out!" (Author's side note:  Just so you know, prior to discovering my Diva, the only four-letter word I used in a derogatory way was "Math!") Anyway my Diva loves powerful Flamenco music and Reggaeton. She hits it hard and with passion and she is taking no prisoners. Honestly, if I were a cancer cell, I would be afraid to come anywhere near this body. So for all my sweet friends who want to kick their doormat status to the curb, I hope my Diva inspires you. With apologies to my dad, here she is:

Along with my Diva, I also discovered a Drill Sergeant living within my body. I call him "Mr. Clean" because he looks just like Mr. Clean from the commercials. He's got a reddish face, a shiny bald head, Schwarzenegger-like physique, and he yells. Mr. Clean only comes out when I find myself worrying about chemo, and he just has one thing to say shout:

CHEMO?  We Eat Chemo For Breakfast!!!

I'm not making this stuff up, you guys (and I'm not on any pain meds either), these voices really are part of the new, improved, Laurie!

Thanks for all the love! You, my friends and family, are saving my life with your support! I love you all.

PS - To all my Diva friends out there, I'm challenging you to a Diva Dance-Off once the cancer sh** is out of the way!  I'm talking to you: Michael Burgos.

P.S. - If you'd like to leave a comment, it'll be much easier if you go here instead of trying to do it through Blogger. If the link doesn't work, just go to:
https://www.mylifeline.org/lauriethrives/default.cfm?page=myupdates.cfm
Simply scroll to the bottom of the update you want to comment on and hit "comment." I love hearing from you. You're love keeps me alive!

Your Prayers Are Working!

Hello my wonderful friends and family!

So many of you have reached out to me in more ways than I knew people could. I want you to know all of your loving support, your prayers, your positive thoughts, and great vibrations are creating miracles for me.  I've had an amazing week and am feeling strong and empowered.

For those who don't know, in the Zumba community we do fundraisers (FUNdraisers, really) called "Zumbathons." There are Zumbathons for pretty much anything you can think of: "Party in Pink" for breast cancer awareness, "Together We Dance" to find a cure for ALS, and "Party Hearty" promoting cardiovascular health, are just a few of the more well known events. On a local level, our Zumba community in the California Coachella Valley has also done some Zumbathons for:

• People in need of emergency funds
• Scholarships
• Boys and Girls Club
• Child Abuse Prevention
• Relay for Life
• Arthritis Foundation

If you've never done Zumba but are interested in supporting an event, just visit http://zumbathon.zumba.com/ to see what's happening in your area. And, no, you don't have to know how to dance to participate. You'll meet really great people and have a terrific time. I promise!

So what does a Zumbathon have to do with your support and my miraculous strength and healing?

Well, some of my dearest friends and fellow Zumba instructors have been organizing an annual Zumbathon to award one deserving high-school student a scholarship. The instructors donate their time, and our resident Zumba DJ, David Ponce (aka DJ Boost) donates his pounding equipment and spinning skills to create an event with massive energy and fun! This year, thanks to the encouragement of  Johanna Sanches, one of my angels on earth, the coordinators gave the scholarship in honor of me on Superbowl Sunday. Johanna worked tirelessly to create 100 of the most beautiful teal and white ribbons (colors representing cervical cancer) for participants to wear. I could feel people dancing for me all day.  That, combined with all the traditional love and prayers you're sending, has given me more strength than I've felt in nearly a year.

I'm incredibly grateful to be in the hearts of so many people, and to have such loving friends and family in my life. I think I've cried more tears of joy this week than any other.

If you need a DJ in Palm Springs, Palm Desert, Indian Wells, Bermuda Dunes, Indio, La Quinta, Coachella, or surrounding areas, I encourage you to use DJ Boost.  You can reach him at 760-485-7337 or find him on Facebook under David Ponce. He's a good, family man with a giant heart and he knows how to mix his music. You'll have a non-stop, super fun party, guaranteed!

Here are a few pictures of the special day. I hope you enjoy my friends as much as I do!

From left to right: Saida Mesa, Stacey Castillo-Mizell, Rosy Mesa, Yany Perez, DJ Boost

From left to right:  Luisa de Leon, Yany Perez, Johanna Sanches, Stacy Castillo-Mizell, Patty Reyes

 Party On!!

P.S. - If you'd like to leave a comment, it'll be much easier if you go here instead of trying to do it through Blogger. If the link doesn't work, just go to:
https://www.mylifeline.org/lauriethrives/default.cfm?page=myupdates.cfm
Simply scroll to the bottom of the update you want to comment on and hit "comment." I love hearing from you. You're love keeps me alive!

My First Day of Radiation and Chemotherapy

Hello my wonderful friends,

In the famous words of the beloved Mark Twain, I'm happy to report "The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."  Yes, I am still alive after a full day of radiation and chemotherapy! We gave those cancer cells a one-two punch today that should have knocked them off their feet. Leaving chemo I felt like The Champ, both hands taped and wrapped after a successful match. (They were taped and wrapped because my veins were playing hard-to-get, so I felt like boxer anyway.) Round one: cervical cancer 0, Laurie 1! I'm not sure yet how many rounds this match will be. The doctors want me to have chemo once a week during my radiation treatments, but it's yet to be determined if I'll have chemo during my course of internal radiation). I'm supposed to have five weeks (five days a week) of external beam radiation followed by four to five weeks of internal radiation. I'll keep you "posted" on all that as my progress continues. Okay, now on to the funny stuff.

"Funny" is a relative term, but I'm finding as much funny as I can right now - even if it means bathroom humor. So let's start with a bit of that.  Everyday before my radiation treatment I need to have a full bladder because it "lifts" the bladder away from the cervix (defying all means of logic in my mind). Here are the rules: finish drinking at least four eight-once glasses of water one hour prior to radiation treatment.  Basically, I need to do the "pee pee dance" every time I go to radiation. They run me through a CT scan to make sure my bladder is high enough, if I pass... (oh, no "pass" is certainly the wrong word here)... if they see I'm full enough, then I get to have treatment. If not, I have to wait and drink more water and hold it in (while someone else has their treatment...that meant 45 minutes on our practice day last week). My radiation tech (who shares the same maiden name as I do...so I call her "Aunt Kathy") said ladies have the hard part because we have to hold it, whereas men dealing with prostate cancer just have to clip their penises (peni?) to prevent leakage. Aunt Kathy and I must have differing views of "lucky" because when I heard that I felt incredibly grateful to be a girl! Anyway, you keep your full bladder during the 20-minute treatment, then race to the restroom for your much-needed relief. Yesterday I didn't mess around: I downed 10 eight-once glasses an hour before my appointment. I was (quite literally) good to go!

The bathroom humor gets better from here my friends. The colon apparently has the opposite effect on the cervix. So you want as little food or gas in there as possible. If you don't pass (ah, perfect word) that test you either get to have an enema for the #2 or a catheter if it's just gas. (What do you call poots...a #0?) Anyway they've got me on some pain medication and I'm experiencing constipation for the first time in my life. I had been using an herbal supplement that happens to contain habanero chilies to get my bowels comfortably moving. (If you haven't heard of habaneros, they make jalapenos seem about as spicy as Wonder Bread). I had a radiation practice round last week (for which I was going to create a post named "Tattoos and Enemas" because not only did I learn about enemas,  I also got my first three tattoos to line up my hips properly for the radiation beams). I knew nothing about the enemas until a phone call the day before practice indicating I needed to give myself not one, but two enemas prior to my appointment the next morning. Oh, the joy! (By the way, I'm practicing being facetious here.) I will save you from the details, but leave you with one bit of advice: don't ever, ever give yourself an enema after consuming habaneros.  The enemas worked, but I still got to have a catheter up my chile-burned booty to get rid of a gas bubble. (Oh, I also got to have a catheter in my coochie coochie simultaneously so the CT scan would show exactly where my cervix begins. What a sight! I was laughing so hard but I was also doing everything in my power not to laugh so hard as to push out the catheters (or possibly pee out my full bladder).

I'm sure now you understand why I have since switched to a chile-free laxative. I had just polished off the box of expired ones we had at the house, so my husband, Charlie, got me a fresh box to use the day before my first "real" day of treatment. Now I know why they put expiration dates on medications: same dose, different "outcomes."  Holy cow, I think I may have even gotten rid of some Pop Rocks from the '70's yesterday morning! Anyway, Charlie and I set out for our 30-minute drive to the radiology place with a full bladder and absolutely nothing else...or so I thought. Five minutes before arrival I found myself longing for Depends...not for the pee pee dance either.) But it wasn't five minutes....it was really 25 minutes because I had to have treatment first. I passed got through it with flying colors...then ran as fast as I could to powder my nose.

I dressed for the occasion. Here is a picture of me with my Radiation Oncologist (I call him Dr. Rad). Take a look at my t-shirt.

For those of you without superpower vision, the shirt has a picture of a boom box (aka ghetto blaster, portable stereo, etc.) that reads "Check Out My Box" underneath.  If you're not laughing, "box" is slang for coochie coochie. Now I hope some of you are falling off your chairs. It got a chuckle from Dr. Rad and a few high fives from the nurses.  Okay, off to chemo!

Many of you may or may not know that I've practiced a lot of hopeful thinking for nearly a decade.  I meditate (more like a kid dialed into a video game than a monk in a monastery, but still I meditate), I practice self hypnosis, I do guided imagery, practice being grateful, and lots of breath work. I have a strong faith that brings me peace and strength.  So for my chemo session I made a wonderful playlist of some great guided imagery cds and relaxing music to keep my mind focused on using the chemo to kill the cancer cells, while using my faith to strengthen my healthy cells. Only I forgot my iPod. Charlie kindly offered to make the hour round-trip to bring it me, and I accepted. Thank you, Charlie!  All chemo centers are different. Mine does not allow visitors, instead they've got ten recliners set up in a u-shape with a tv playing soap operas at one end (novellas for my latina amigas).  The room is brightly light with florescent beams, so this is not what I would consider an ideal environment for creating peace and calm.  While I was there the first two hours I thought I was in a "gentleman's club" since I was the only girl, but the only pole dancing I did was figuring out how to maneuver my IV-bag holder to and from the restroom. No one even threw money at me. Oh well. Maybe if Uggs ever starts making stripper shoes then I'll rake in some cash. Anyway, I was rather surprised by the conversation. I felt like I was listening to a game of "Who's Cancer is Worse" as the boys took turns telling their tales of woe.  The man directly across from me, who I have sarcastically nicknamed "Mr. Sunshine" was full of advice for me. These are his direct quotes:

• "This chemo is going to kick your a**."
• "I've had to be put in the hospital six times from all this chemo."
• "You'll probably lose all your hair in the next two weeks."
• "You've got to get this shot. It gets rid of the nausea real quick. It costs $2500."
• "When I'm here for chemo, they give me a bag so I can even do it at home. You might want to get yourself on of those fanny packs, you know?"
• "You're going to get really skinny.  I've lost four pant sizes." (Since I was a Zumba Fitness instructor prior to my diagnosis (you can check out my profile here, the last thing I want is to lose more weight. I've been forcing myself to eat as much as possible to get ready for the nausea and vomiting that is common with my particular chemo medication, Cisplatin.)
• And, as I was leaving to use the restroom I could hear him say "I'd like to take some of that home with me." I was quick to let him know I heard him.  :)

This was not the guided imagery I was wanting to practice. Of course I know that I don't have the same cancer he has, I don't have the body he has, and I don't have the mindset he has. I thanked God profusely when the nurse arrived with the iPod Charlie had dropped off.  I kindly excused myself from the pep talk with Mr. Sunshine and The Band so I could get to work getting that horrible energy off of me, and go on my mental vacation to a much kinder, gentler, space.  I saw angels and warm, smiling faces. They reminded me I am a strong, dynamic woman. I am healthy. I am at peace. I am loved.

So to all of you who have been praying for me, sending positive thoughts my way, good vibes, precious cards and notes, and all those wonderful miracles: I am so grateful to you.  Your love is gently cradling me each day, re-focusing my mind on health and healing and hope. Thank you! I love you all, and I send my love freely back to you hoping you're at peace, too.

P.S. - If you'd like to leave a comment, it'll be much easier if you go here instead of trying to do it through Blogger. If the link doesn't work, just go to:
https://www.mylifeline.org/lauriethrives/default.cfm?page=myupdates.cfm
Simply scroll to the bottom of the update you want to comment on and hit "comment." I love hearing from you. You're love keeps me alive!

My Cerivcal Cancer Diagnosis

Hello family and friends,

Thank you for dropping by. Really quickly I will share my diagnosis, which is:  Cervical Cancer, Stage 3B, Grade 3.  I don't want this to be a fear-based blog, so I'm not going to go into detail about what my diagnosis means. Google is your friend. Feel free to use it to get more information if you wish.  But here is a little snippet of my understanding in layman's terms:

• Cervical Cancer can be Stage 1, 2, 3, or 4. Stage has to do with how far the cancer has spread. One is the best in terms of survival because the tumor is contained to only one area, 4 means the tumor has spread to other organs. In my case, Stage 3, the tumor has spread to the lymph nodes.
• The letter next to the staging is either an A or a B. "A" means the tumor cannot be seen with the naked eye, "B" means it can. (My gynecological oncologist said my tumor is somewhere between a golf ball and a basketball.  Thanks, doc!)
• Cervical Cancer can be Grade 1, 2, or 3. The grade has to do with how aggressive the cancer cells are. Grade 1 means the cells are reproducing at the slowest rate whereas Grade 3 means they're on a divide and conquer spree.

There you have it, Cervical Cancer 101.  You're welcome :)

I was diagnosed December 19, 2012. Some people freak out when they hear the "C" word, but I was just grateful for a diagnosis. I had spent the previous year and a half in and out of doctors' offices, and cutting back my Zumba teaching schedule (cutting back from my life, really) more and more. Fatigue and dizziness kept me either in bed or on the couch the majority of 2012.

Some of you know I also had symptoms of MS to the degree my tremors disabled me from walking. After two brain MRI's the neurologist was convinced my issues were all in my head; he couldn't find anything wrong with me. My husband, Charlie, and I went back to our family physician with a laundry list of possible reasons for my symptoms (including gynecological problems). He shook his head at all our suggestions, said my abnormal pap smear was nothing to worry about, and instead concurred with the neurologist: it was all in my head. I left the appointment feeling like I could have won the World's Record for "Biggest Hypochondriac." I also left the appointment not wanting to return to the doctor for anything because I thought I wouldn't be taken seriously.

That's why, when I awoke from my hysteroscopy (a minor surgery used to take biopsies within the cervix and other areas down "there") December 19, I was grateful for a diagnosis. I wasn't happy to learn I had cancer, but it was incredibly validating to learn I wasn't crazy!

Love and Light,

Laurie

P.S. - If you'd like to leave a comment, it'll be much easier if you go here instead of trying to do it through Blogger. If the link doesn't work, just go to:
https://www.mylifeline.org/lauriethrives/default.cfm?page=myupdates.cfm
Simply scroll to the bottom of the update you want to comment on and hit "comment." I love hearing from you. You're love keeps me alive!