tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53427158965447375642024-03-12T18:21:18.335-07:00Surviving the CureA cancer survivor reveals the truth about life after cancer.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-77917583855298302352018-06-07T15:56:00.000-07:002018-06-07T15:56:36.812-07:00It Gets Better: Why You Shouldn't DespairEleven years ago today, I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. I'm amazed at the difference between then and now.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQWUrO3tiCxkJCXl_ebxkAionfwVGfNlpXcn-U-j2tMkegaILmag5jIvywGjOIXKbPP_bfSgmL6Ukx8A66VtPZRWckgenEszaU63MggNqDkZknSZA76dbzFHalYGkFWBjAFAAUGoiWUZv/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQWUrO3tiCxkJCXl_ebxkAionfwVGfNlpXcn-U-j2tMkegaILmag5jIvywGjOIXKbPP_bfSgmL6Ukx8A66VtPZRWckgenEszaU63MggNqDkZknSZA76dbzFHalYGkFWBjAFAAUGoiWUZv/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 2007</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 2018</td></tr>
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The funny thing is, though...I almost forgot. You'd think the date would be scarred into my memory like a horrific brand—but for at least the last several years the date sneaks up on me and it isn't until one or two days before (and in a couple instances, the day of) that I remember, "Oh, yeah, cancer...that happened."<br />
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It's a good thing, though. A few years ago, this day was a crushing reminder of all I'd lost. The college experiences I'd never had, the physical activities lost to me through the damage caused by both cancer and cure, my freaking gorgeous hair, all of it. I'd hide away and mope and cry and numb myself as best as possible, all to get through one single day.<br />
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I'm not sure when that stopped, within the last five years for sure. The question is...why?<br />
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There are a couple things I've attributed this to:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXN8fY3vY9iECxF0cSxORs5aCc6sr0i7OOQA2tEe1RroISdjkDVMihzw4YsniBvfeglzaX8Vf3mtvSxczveWJX18KS0gkmj_NrsYNLk9ll2XetTe9U49YYT6TMEIVkPzepx2uRjdY1TYZ2/s1600/cerveau-sport-haltere-preparation-mentale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXN8fY3vY9iECxF0cSxORs5aCc6sr0i7OOQA2tEe1RroISdjkDVMihzw4YsniBvfeglzaX8Vf3mtvSxczveWJX18KS0gkmj_NrsYNLk9ll2XetTe9U49YYT6TMEIVkPzepx2uRjdY1TYZ2/s200/cerveau-sport-haltere-preparation-mentale.jpg" width="200" /></a>1. <u>Adaptation</u>: The human mind is a crazy, weird, wonderful thing. I couldn't even begin to list all the fascinating things about it, there's been countless books written on the topic, but the one that helps dull the pain of remembrance and allows me to forget the day my life was forever changed is our ability to adapt to even the most mind-bending situations.<br />
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There's a lot said about desensitization today, particularly when it comes to violence. However, we're constantly desensitized to almost everything. Think about it—to people living 50 years ago, our lives today are almost unrecognizable. The sheer ingenuity and complexity of our technology alone is an absolute marvel and wonder.<br />
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We landed people on the Moon! "Yeah, whatever, big whoop, let me look at cat videos." Now, wait, how can you even look at cat videos? Less than thirty years ago, it was next to impossible to easily access the wild and wacky antics of fuzzy felines, now, it's a ubiquitous phenomena that threatens the very fabric of our existence. Or something. Maybe not. But you get my point.<br />
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Same thing with cancer. I started off numbed to it, not through desensitization, but through sheer shock. "Surprise! You have cancer. Here's a menagerie of exceedingly toxic chemicals, have fun." Ten years later, that doesn't phase me. I've relived and replayed those memories thousands upon thousands of times—especially when writing my memoir—and over time, my well of tears dried up, my anxiety and trauma of revisiting those nightmarish days of life and death faded, and it all just seems routine.<br />
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I've had ten joint replacements since 2010. I'm so used to surgeries I actually look forward to them now! It's my new normal, a known entity—as opposed to normal life which scares the hell out of me because I have so little experience with anything outside being pumped full of drugs, of having pieces of me ripped out and metal shoved in their place. But that's just another thing to get used to, and I'm sure that the more I expose myself to the more mundane, normal experiences most people know, the more my anxiety with regards to that will fade.<br />
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2. <u>Time</u>: There's a stupid cliché about time healing all wounds—it's utter BS. Time doesn't heal all wounds, not by a long shot. But it does grant you perspective and distance, and with that, an easing of suffering.<br />
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The memories and traumas become fuzzier, less distinct. It begins to feels less and less like something that happened to you—though there are still moments when it comes back clear as day. Of course, the pain never really leaves, but you're able to put it into better context.<br />
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While you're dealing with cancer and treatments and the after-effects of both, it's hard to focus on anything but the present. A decade or more later, you can look at where it all led you. Is it likely your life isn't as good as you would have hoped before cancer? Sure. But you get a chance to view your past through whichever lens you chose. Did cancer mess everything up? Or did it set you on a different path?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpsn06JGspzrqDxd-N56hoVEmTvHGsMzK8V2pe85krfzZYdhaCD7Uyc-NaNz4kNAkx5Z9biw6tGv2ogmWQthIJ434Nhv_AHPIRgdCf8nG8UZjOWomueyNvzB3R56YDs5rPBBGRdISO95X/s1600/many-paths-multiple-leading-to-same-distination-63107910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpsn06JGspzrqDxd-N56hoVEmTvHGsMzK8V2pe85krfzZYdhaCD7Uyc-NaNz4kNAkx5Z9biw6tGv2ogmWQthIJ434Nhv_AHPIRgdCf8nG8UZjOWomueyNvzB3R56YDs5rPBBGRdISO95X/s200/many-paths-multiple-leading-to-same-distination-63107910.jpg" width="200" /></a>The key is spinning cancer in a positive light, in reframing your experience so you can find positives to take away from it. "But cancer sucked, how can anything good come from it?" Good question. I can't answer that, because all experiences differ—we're individuals, our paths diverge from the common origin of diagnosis. The only person who can reframe your traumas is you.<br />
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So, for those going through cancer now, or having just entered remission, don't give up. It takes time, experience, it takes getting used to, but the mental and emotional anguish of your fight with cancer—if not the physical difficulties—will dull. Let that comfort you in difficult times—for we are only as strong as we think we are.<br />
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<u>Takeaways</u>:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Cancer sucks (shocker)</li>
<li>Your mind has the ability to adapt to even the most challenging situations</li>
<li>Distance and perspective help to ease the pain of past experiences</li>
<li>You're as strong as you believe you are</li>
</ul>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-75562071215381780652018-06-03T18:03:00.005-07:002018-06-03T18:07:01.352-07:00National Cancer Survivors Day - What Can You Do?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEOG4JlxuBZ42uWstBewCZDAyaB5Okf04g8G7v3i0fQy4b2Oqoo0YK7GEWlVp1fJlNkYt6GqIp2-x18DLf3sZMTFIwLp7jn29P_bBHtEShn8czgyPnIwShjFAH1d152yqCRjTM1bg3deF/s1600/national-cancer-survivors-day-400x267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="400" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEOG4JlxuBZ42uWstBewCZDAyaB5Okf04g8G7v3i0fQy4b2Oqoo0YK7GEWlVp1fJlNkYt6GqIp2-x18DLf3sZMTFIwLp7jn29P_bBHtEShn8czgyPnIwShjFAH1d152yqCRjTM1bg3deF/s200/national-cancer-survivors-day-400x267.jpg" width="200" /></a>Today is National Cancer Survivors Day.<br />
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So, let's talk about the ugly truth: surviving cancer is just the beginning.<br />
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This is a topic for which I raise awareness whenever I can. I've given talks to schools about the realities of life after cancer, and it was the main drive behind me publishing <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937" target="_blank">my memoir</a> about my battle with cancer and also the effects of the treatment.<br />
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For most people, they receive an almost overwhelming deluge of support when they're first diagnosed. In my case, my hospital room felt like a daily revolving door, with dozens of visitors throughout the day, and sometimes with groups of 10+ showing up to check in on me. But over time, the support turns from deluge to a downpour, then to a rainstorm, then a drizzle, then a spritz, until it becomes mist so fine it's difficult to see sometimes. Toward the end of my treatment, I would go days without having a visitor—though there were still a handful of friends who would come to see me or text me and things of those nature.<br />
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This effect becomes more pronounced once you enter remission. A lot of people tell you, "Good job! You beat cancer, so you're all better and don't need us anymore. Peace, dude." Okay, maybe they don't say it like that—certainly not so overtly—but that's the gist of it: You're all better, you don't need us. Except you do.<br />
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Just because someone is in remission doesn't mean they're cured or even better. There's the fear of the cancer returning; depression and anxiety and PTSD common among a large portion of survivors; drug addiction from all the narcotics, which affects roughly a third of all survivors; and a whole menagerie of other side effects that vary from cancer to cancer, treatment to treatment, person to person—too numerous to even begin listing.<br />
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It's this fact, that there is still a lot of recovery for most survivors, that seems to get swept under the rug. Personally, I believe this is due to a couple factors:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHELBXb0eS6xbLtWi-3VzXDW8kYkZxl22SvbwOyEiofhxepH6iXBIDjykwgD3i7OTA0ZzdhpZm7Ft4R_N3lycBtx6qNS_Iq9kGxm5Uo7GaEVjeuH4sjaucTsHTrBl8F5dHaSJh7yk0EkU/s1600/hiphiphooray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="800" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHELBXb0eS6xbLtWi-3VzXDW8kYkZxl22SvbwOyEiofhxepH6iXBIDjykwgD3i7OTA0ZzdhpZm7Ft4R_N3lycBtx6qNS_Iq9kGxm5Uo7GaEVjeuH4sjaucTsHTrBl8F5dHaSJh7yk0EkU/s200/hiphiphooray.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<ol>
<li>People just want to be happy for you. Everything is good and you can return to your life. That optimism, while good-natured, tends to gloss over the side effects from having chemicals pumped into your body that are so toxic the nurses have to wear gloves when handling it, or being dosed with radiation, or having bits of you cut out. So, instead of: "You beat cancer, hip hip hooray!" the reality is more like: "You subdued cancer for an indeterminate amount of time, hip hip replacement!" </li>
<li>The majority of the focus—the research, the attention, the money, the drug studies, the support—goes to cancer. It makes sense, cancer is a single big bad monster that is easy to vilify and rally against. What's not so easy to gather an army of support for is the million problems that come after. There are an insane number of different side effects, but the bigs ones for me were: Graft vs. Host Disease (which did a better job at almost killing me than cancer), Avascular Necrosis (a degenerative bone disease that came about from treating the GVHD and so far has led to 10 joint replacement surgeries), depression, anxiety, PTSD, arthritis, osteoporosis, drug addiction, 100 pounds of weight gain, and quite a few other smaller issues that cropped up as the result of treating both the cancer and the side effects of the cure.</li>
</ol>
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So what can we do to better care for our millions and millions of survivors? People in the medical field can work to create more and better Wellness Clinics and Survivorship Programs. There aren't a ton out there at the moment, and hardly any when I was first going through my early post-remission days. Having resources like these available, places where your care can be centralized so you don't have a small army of doctors and specialists who don't communicate taking care of your variety of problems, is key to ensuring the survivor has the best quality of care possible.<br />
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For everyday folk, friends, family, the best you can do is continue to be supportive. I know it's exhausting work and painful for those close to the survivor, believe me, I do, but the best way for someone to get through all the challenges is to have a good attitude.<br />
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Now, that doesn't necessarily mean they should always be positive, because there will be sucky days where they feel like a cold turd warmed over, but it means being there for them and assisting them with whatever possible. Distractions are good, doing stuff they used to do to give them a semblance of normalcy, even if for an afternoon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhtCyFLY8Mt7HgRV9hAxaMmqA3DKY-psx0SrEsaRyYj6f6DROVgjVgM3RqKHDsc6zV_UWDA7_4rK9zN6zTPt4jXcRJnmzAeSbG323paqQvthcya2asaJ0QWq4r-G-6yarEb7d3eijnV6a/s1600/walkingoneggshells.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="672" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhtCyFLY8Mt7HgRV9hAxaMmqA3DKY-psx0SrEsaRyYj6f6DROVgjVgM3RqKHDsc6zV_UWDA7_4rK9zN6zTPt4jXcRJnmzAeSbG323paqQvthcya2asaJ0QWq4r-G-6yarEb7d3eijnV6a/s200/walkingoneggshells.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
If you're not sure how you can do that, then ask them. I think there's a fear of bringing up health issues with cancer survivors and patients in case such topics depress or upset them, so it's best not to remind them. However, that is hardly the case. In fact, talking about such topics may actually be better than sweeping them under the rug, where nary shall they be seen again—it stops survivors from feeling like everyone is walking on eggshells around them, like their experience, horrific though it may have been, never happened. News flash: it did. And discussing it allows you to learn what the survivor most needs to be in the best frame of mind.<br />
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So, the best thing you can do is be open and honest with survivors. Remember, survivors are not delicate panes of glass, but people, as vibrant and diverse in experience and need as anyone else.<br />
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If you know someone who is a survivor, or if you know people who are friends with survivors, please pass along this information. It is vitally important that we spread awareness about life after cancer so survivors can receive the same quality of care and support that cancer patients.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-17796853032110790762018-02-26T16:45:00.000-08:002018-02-26T16:45:19.748-08:00Coming Out AspieHey, all,<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWNotPA_IfHH1QbZl6-FeZjvkspTS-K6w0r8QW2IZbad4ahtVFTSkjx9jBozHOjuI4miHwgaOQ0ecFNohDtmXvlcxaoxr7iyLeFu3GJMSLD-jo0o4DqYlQuGJqJgabkIPPLAvUoTiHNQZ9/s1600/funny-quotes-about-exams-stress-wallpaper-for-teenage-bedroom-wall-stickers-designs-ideas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="423" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWNotPA_IfHH1QbZl6-FeZjvkspTS-K6w0r8QW2IZbad4ahtVFTSkjx9jBozHOjuI4miHwgaOQ0ecFNohDtmXvlcxaoxr7iyLeFu3GJMSLD-jo0o4DqYlQuGJqJgabkIPPLAvUoTiHNQZ9/s200/funny-quotes-about-exams-stress-wallpaper-for-teenage-bedroom-wall-stickers-designs-ideas.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Over the last year, I've been debating a rather personal issue—whether or not to reveal my true nature, who I really am. I'm not naturally one to volunteer information about myself unprompted—which is why I <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=" target="_blank">wrote a book about my life</a>, clearly. On the other hand, I don't wish to feel like I need to hide who I am because of what others may think or say about me. So, for the first time in almost twenty years, it's time to open up.<br />
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I have <a href="http://www.autism-society.org/what-is/aspergers-syndrome/" target="_blank">Asperger's Syndrome</a>.<br />
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Might not be what you were expecting, but there it is all the same. For those unfamiliar with it, Asperger's is an Autism Spectrum Disorder characterized by having very specific, almost obsessive interests (like my fervent love of space), normal-to-high intelligence, difficulty with social situations, having a flat affect (both of which I've learned to mask over the years), muted emotions, difficulty understanding emotion (both others and my own), a desire to have everything in some kind of order (OCD-ish), and many others.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL2SrNe0nOLTBiPSEpDGlxhplE77pkbk9HSWTotdAeq1Y7E6EFmU6tKKfIKAPRADn1BfIQmgl3AJkIQOloXl9xZ66QDVkW-QpdzpLR1a6aBBcLhFiQlFvdirNQsHnBp59sVpJbUoLhSf8/s1600/75272ef46ebf2a6121c67520819ee929--asperger-syndrome-autism-spectrum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL2SrNe0nOLTBiPSEpDGlxhplE77pkbk9HSWTotdAeq1Y7E6EFmU6tKKfIKAPRADn1BfIQmgl3AJkIQOloXl9xZ66QDVkW-QpdzpLR1a6aBBcLhFiQlFvdirNQsHnBp59sVpJbUoLhSf8/s1600/75272ef46ebf2a6121c67520819ee929--asperger-syndrome-autism-spectrum.jpg" /></a>We call ourselves Aspies, those of us on the Asperger's end of the spectrum. The rest of the world, generally speaking, are neutrotypicals (NTs). For most Aspies, NTs are a very odd species. Your reactions, your logic, your emotions, these are foreign to many of us. And yet, we live among you, watching, lurking, waiting to rise up and...oh, wait, that's the AI. Never mind.<br />
<br />
I found out I was an Aspie at 5. For years, I just thought of myself as me, and did what I could to get along with the kids around me. But I always felt something lacking with my peers, and gravitated toward adults, with whom I could more readily converse and actually enjoy those conversations. Sure, I played with kids my age, but never found the same satisfaction of But, when I moved to San Diego, thrust into middle school with no friends or understanding what most kids were really like, I was constantly harassed, bullied, taunted, you name it. I made the mistake of revealing what I was—different, and thus a target for ridicule and mockery.<br />
<br />
So it shouldn't come as any surprise that I tried to hide what I was. It didn't work well at first, I had a few friends, a little band of misfits who really only had each other, but besides that, the world was a lonely, dark place where people made no sense.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjej811W6J80V9yd5OdnNC4UTgEmrIVcV_0u2i0tvPlkCMhkt_4XIwgNt6FGbv8SgZqvatfsT9sdYjR4wQzxkPA48PAG-ZrsJEpNha_uJNiuQ_GJbBqlhohI0_9OtmI3Hgsv-4ZYyw8ZN/s1600/034c0033e148a2650a99a30f5caf170a--aspergers-autism-asd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="171" data-original-width="236" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjej811W6J80V9yd5OdnNC4UTgEmrIVcV_0u2i0tvPlkCMhkt_4XIwgNt6FGbv8SgZqvatfsT9sdYjR4wQzxkPA48PAG-ZrsJEpNha_uJNiuQ_GJbBqlhohI0_9OtmI3Hgsv-4ZYyw8ZN/s200/034c0033e148a2650a99a30f5caf170a--aspergers-autism-asd.jpg" width="200" /></a>After a while, I realized I could start to make some sense of NT behavior. I began to careful study, going on over 15 years now, to understand and learn how to imitate "social" behavior. It paid off. Within a couple years, I could feign social competence—what inflections to use, which affects to wear, body language, speech patterns, the whole shebang. Although, I still constantly talk about space and science and all the fun things I learn from documentaries.<br />
<br />
It wasn't...isn't...easy. It's rare for me to be able to put aside that NT mask and just revel in my Aspie-ness. My mind is constantly working when I talk with others, figuring out the right words to say, when the right time to speak is, which facial features to adopt, the tone, what humor is appropriate, etc. Those dozens of tiny little things people not on the spectrum do unconsciously when they interact with others, for me at least, all are carefully controlled variables in constant flux based on an extensive database born from years and years of study. And even still, I don't always get it right.<br />
<br />
Let me be clear, this is not what most Aspies are like. I've been able to integrate myself into the neurotypical world fairly well because one of my obsessions is psychology and people. I'm fascinated by what makes people tick, why they do what they do, learning their fears, their drives, and it gives me an enormous advantage over other Aspies who do not have my same base of knowledge, and even over some NTs.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPciVwLLJhVd34Z3qdBZq3NnQbCY9uC9r26vuaW-ZOusOD5z7Bn6vpSIw1aMUuJ3ry0G3rc6INjNATg3mbJ55fg9aKlKSOW3XS9CdSLbDh0b0D4y3EAsm9WP6BeKd1OG2yg_kuGC4M2NF/s1600/ba3c82bdc4c1bbe9807cec6ddcb49dc3--aspergers-autism-asd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="236" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPciVwLLJhVd34Z3qdBZq3NnQbCY9uC9r26vuaW-ZOusOD5z7Bn6vpSIw1aMUuJ3ry0G3rc6INjNATg3mbJ55fg9aKlKSOW3XS9CdSLbDh0b0D4y3EAsm9WP6BeKd1OG2yg_kuGC4M2NF/s200/ba3c82bdc4c1bbe9807cec6ddcb49dc3--aspergers-autism-asd.jpg" width="200" /></a>All this work is exhausting. It's wearing and draining to constantly pretend to be something I'm not. Which is why I've decided to come out. I no longer fear the taunts of the insecure people, of the bullies who would deprecate me for who I am. If someone wants to be my friend, I shouldn't have to play the part of normal human for X amount of time before I can reveal a large part of my personality is merely a charade to hide my true self for the benefit of social lubrication.<br />
<br />
Now, that doesn't mean I'm going to drop everything I've learned. I'll still use the tools I gained to hide among the neurotypicals, but no longer as a front, but simply to be polite and make sure those I talk with aren't uncomfortable by my monotone and flat affect and muted emotions.<br />
<br />
So that's it. I'm out, and I'm damn well proud to call myself Aspie. Wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
<br />
~Andrew<br />
<br />
PS: Yes, I do have Asperger's. I've had several psychologists seem incredulous when I tell them, and then I drop the mask completely and they say, "Oh, okay, you're right." So just because I might not act as though I have it, trust me, I do.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Feel free to ask any questions in the comment section.</b></u></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-31141667296031477852017-10-22T16:45:00.000-07:002017-10-22T16:45:05.409-07:00The Path to NormalcyHello again,<br />
<br />
It's been an incredibly hectic few months. Which leads me to something I feel is important to discuss that I'm sure isn't all too foreign, at least on some level, to many:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2VqYBRJMMw9jFQ5fZdY32Wa0tPxOxJr-aDF77VVpJ1sLSGurJCi-GBSLMGwG20KfXnjF-4RjG0s8gMzhtAtTpGriTmPefkyIUL6C60O1YMV3pYibo04WGHXS7MieigeDuhpWoOAfYLTq/s1600/1431779442027.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="693" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2VqYBRJMMw9jFQ5fZdY32Wa0tPxOxJr-aDF77VVpJ1sLSGurJCi-GBSLMGwG20KfXnjF-4RjG0s8gMzhtAtTpGriTmPefkyIUL6C60O1YMV3pYibo04WGHXS7MieigeDuhpWoOAfYLTq/s320/1431779442027.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
I tend to get overwhelmed somewhat easily, especially with the more mundane aspects of life—work, school, bills, insurance, socializing, what have you—and especially when they're all happening simultaneously. For years, I felt ill-equipped, like a failure, for not being able to deal with the realities of independent living. This was a near-constant thought I repeated like the world's worst mantra.<br />
<br />
Yet, when it comes to traumatic events in my life—surgery, car accidents, cancer scares, joint collapses, etc.—I cope far better than most. After ten years of dealing with grim prognoses and continual setbacks, what most people would consider horrific experiences are my normal. The reason? I was diagnosed with leukemia a little over ten years ago, just as I was about to graduate high school, and so instead of learning and adjusting with my peers to adulthood, I struggled just to stay alive and, once I'd come out the other side, to recover. The natural path of leaving the nest and learning to navigate the real world wasn't mine to walk. Instead, I found myself on a more winding path to a reasonably normal life, slowly picking up the skills necessary to do so.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiocLNmzbjBDdKpxYiT63zexpxd-OEGAnkdBvETCT7e08yqnnKHL4tuvNIR_OSljCZyG5-ok8PH6-y4QZWRcQApqLJ_zbqj8skGpw_6WAKLc6g0fCYtIZWmPLdQgCKBKlkzYMrdQBKBVTvf/s1600/20100615-roads2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="580" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiocLNmzbjBDdKpxYiT63zexpxd-OEGAnkdBvETCT7e08yqnnKHL4tuvNIR_OSljCZyG5-ok8PH6-y4QZWRcQApqLJ_zbqj8skGpw_6WAKLc6g0fCYtIZWmPLdQgCKBKlkzYMrdQBKBVTvf/s320/20100615-roads2.jpg" width="320" /></a>While I added to my repertoire of life skills, I contended with numerous surgeries and other setbacks that served as an ever-growing ball and chain that slowed my progress to a crawl. And the depression and anxiety and PTSD from my battle with cancer and the cure were as broken glass along that path, pain and suffering that reinforced the belief it was far easier to stay put than continue on to endure further cuts, slowly bleeding my resolve. Each additional mundanity increased the incline of the path—growing ever steeper, ever more daunting.<br />
<br />
The combination of these factors is sometimes enough for me to shed some of my less urgent tasks to pour my effort into those that are necessary—to ease the angle of the path and thus the energy required for forward progression. Over the last couple years I've become better at juggling multiple responsibilities, but it has not been easy, and I've had to do it almost entirely on my own.<br />
<br />
I know I'm not alone in this predicament. Many young adult cancer survivors have similar issues, as do people with depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses. That's why it's so important to find ways of tailoring support to those who struggle, because as it sits today, the resources can be improved. It begins with our attitude toward how we offer support and what we think adequate to get these people back on their feet. Unfortunately, the problem doesn't just go away when someone is "cured," there are lingering after-effects that can be just as damaging and difficult to overcome as the original diagnosis.<br />
<br />
The issue is a pervasive one, and only when we work to find the best treatments not just for those currently suffering their maladies, but for those recovering as well, can we ease their path back to normalcy.<br />
<br />
~AndrewAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-13374174076193337802017-06-29T15:56:00.002-07:002017-06-29T16:01:12.580-07:00The Takeaway Part Three: The Only Failure is Giving Up<h2 style="text-align: center;">
The Takeaway: Part Three</h2>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0YQNRxtVh4Ehyz-NrSBMIMwaExXHicQySiHBc1CUBKUIwhrTiI0aitlS4U2GRkpdQrOZxZEqjvHj7Cfai3a_z2_94nYZLVmJt4WDmjHhVX92sCrfE-wXpcfM1zWvNCBsjvOSC-ZrSiRH/s1600/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0YQNRxtVh4Ehyz-NrSBMIMwaExXHicQySiHBc1CUBKUIwhrTiI0aitlS4U2GRkpdQrOZxZEqjvHj7Cfai3a_z2_94nYZLVmJt4WDmjHhVX92sCrfE-wXpcfM1zWvNCBsjvOSC-ZrSiRH/s200/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">My memoir about the challenges of<br />
life after cancer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Last week I went to <a href="http://www.warwicks.com/" target="_blank">Warwick's</a> in La Jolla, the oldest continually operating independent bookstore in the country, to promote my memoir, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=" target="_blank">Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</a></i>. I have to say, I had a great time talking about my journey and what I learned from it, as well as signing books for the audience. And now I want to share some of that talk with you.<br />
<br />
In this three-part series called <u>The Takeaway</u>, I will go over the key messages in both my speech and my book. These concepts are not just for cancer survivors, but for everyone. Whether it's how you view the world, how you treat others, or how you treat yourself, anyone can take away meaning from the lessons of my story and apply them to your life.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr83zBOQJA0YgoDg8M0T7ozus-6Wn2tkVYZ5UTrvCJ9Qhvb2tvebzQscyHdShRfJTzWBRvSRDCypqo6mlmzXRTZy3kp5c4l79fpDXsLp-vjZd_4PVfokI5OA2dJ3Kmj86emo3A_0LE3ABl/s1600/HQVN7421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr83zBOQJA0YgoDg8M0T7ozus-6Wn2tkVYZ5UTrvCJ9Qhvb2tvebzQscyHdShRfJTzWBRvSRDCypqo6mlmzXRTZy3kp5c4l79fpDXsLp-vjZd_4PVfokI5OA2dJ3Kmj86emo3A_0LE3ABl/s200/HQVN7421.jpg" width="150" /></a>In <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-takeaway-support-matters.html" target="_blank">Part One: Support Matters</a>, I addressed the need for cancer survivors to continue to receive support even after they enter remission. While battling cancer, many patients have a great deal of support from their community and medical team, but that support decreases drastically once someone is no longer battling cancer, and yet they continue to face complications as the result of their disease or treatment. It's imperative survivors continue to receive support so they can have the best lives possible.<br />
<br />
In <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2017/06/takeaway-part-two-mentality-and-humor.html" target="_blank">Part Two: Mentality and Humor</a>, I discussed the importance of keeping a positive attitude throughout even the toughest times. How you view and deal with life's problems is entirely up to you. Life doesn't dictate how it affects you, <i>you</i> dictate how life affects you.<br />
<br />
In this final section, I will reveal that there is only one way to fail: when you stop trying.<br />
<br />
<h2>
You Only Fail When You Give Up</h2>
We're so hard on ourselves that whenever we don't meet our expectations, realistic or otherwise, we consider ourselves failures. But is it really?<br />
<br />
There were a lot of days I wanted to give up when I was dealing with cancer and all the after-effects of my treatment—especially shortly after I found out I was going to live after being given two weeks to live. Sure, I'd survived, but what kind of life did I have? I was dealing with drug addiction, bone pain, surgeries, lung damage and needing to be on supplemental oxygen, depression, anxiety, weight gain, diabetes, and collapsing joints. It was a miserable existence I wanted nothing to do with. So I'd pop a couple dozen pills and let my thoughts stop working for a few hours to escape.<br />
<br />
It was so much easier to zone out on narcotics and barbiturates and tranquilizers than to experience reality. And if that was the rest of my life—floating up in the ionosphere, high on anything I could get my hands on—that was perfectly fine with me. In fact, that was preferable. I stopped caring if I recovered, stopped caring about the handful of people who remained as support, stopped caring if I overdosed and died. I gave up, plain and simple.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzF1E97z5RRuzO9MWdqh7t_WMB5ZpDwbY3Q1n0zHtnm9WwW3I38NgTuCmnm87VgiXQQ2HaLOSlDBsLX9EC0x827-Uh-Tj1LJOQ7A0yGUNb41i0AE8dSWL6eYQ5g_RFp9Vda6dWLFFfzkOS/s1600/IMG_0151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzF1E97z5RRuzO9MWdqh7t_WMB5ZpDwbY3Q1n0zHtnm9WwW3I38NgTuCmnm87VgiXQQ2HaLOSlDBsLX9EC0x827-Uh-Tj1LJOQ7A0yGUNb41i0AE8dSWL6eYQ5g_RFp9Vda6dWLFFfzkOS/s400/IMG_0151.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hips, Knees, and Ankles Replacements</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But after a year of this, I realized I was healing—losing weight, dealing with less pain, not needing as much oxygen. For the first time in a year and a half, it felt like things were finally starting to head in the right direction. A doped-up existence on the couch wasn't enough for me anymore—I wanted to <i>live</i>. It was hard to admit to myself I was a drug addict, harder still to admit it to anyone else. I felt like a failure for letting myself disappear into that black void of drug-induced semi-consciousness.<br />
<br />
Once I was sober, I started to rebuild my life. Things went well—until they didn't. Setbacks are the one constant since I was diagnosed with leukemia ten years ago. I can always count on something to go wrong whenever life begins to improve. Try to go to UC Riverside? Ankle collapses. Try to go to UC San Diego? Knee replacement. Try to move out? Drug relapse. Anything else? Joint replacement surgeries—ten of them since 2010, almost always interrupting some progress I've made.<br />
<br />
Those setbacks hit hard, they felt like failures. But they really weren't. Why? Because each time I got back up, dusted myself off, and kept pushing toward a better life. Sometimes it took longer to bounce back than others, but I always got back on my feet. Despite complications and detours, I refused to give up.<br />
<br />
As long as you're still trying, you haven't failed. Failure only comes when you throw in the towel and let your problems win—whether it's cancer or side-effects or bullies or even ourselves. The only person who can defeat you is yourself. You choose when you give up, no one else gets to decide that for you. And as long as you keep fighting, you will never fail.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
Spreading the word about life after cancer is important. There are nearly sixteen million cancer survivors in the United States alone, and that number grows by a quarter of a million every year. With so many survivors out there, it is increasingly important that everyone—from the medical community to friends and family—finds ways to offer support once the cancer is gone. The more people realize what life is truly like for survivors, the greater the support we can give them, and the better their lives can become.<br />
<br />
Please share this so we can get the word out about the reality of life after cancer and give survivors the quality of life they deserve.<br />
<br />
Thank you,<br />
Andrew BundyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-49273512035497729802017-06-28T15:30:00.000-07:002017-06-29T15:56:51.592-07:00The Takeaway Part Two: Mentality and Humor<h2 style="text-align: center;">
The Takeaway: Part Two</h2>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0YQNRxtVh4Ehyz-NrSBMIMwaExXHicQySiHBc1CUBKUIwhrTiI0aitlS4U2GRkpdQrOZxZEqjvHj7Cfai3a_z2_94nYZLVmJt4WDmjHhVX92sCrfE-wXpcfM1zWvNCBsjvOSC-ZrSiRH/s1600/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0YQNRxtVh4Ehyz-NrSBMIMwaExXHicQySiHBc1CUBKUIwhrTiI0aitlS4U2GRkpdQrOZxZEqjvHj7Cfai3a_z2_94nYZLVmJt4WDmjHhVX92sCrfE-wXpcfM1zWvNCBsjvOSC-ZrSiRH/s400/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My memoir about the challenges of<br />
life after cancer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Last week I went to <a href="http://www.warwicks.com/" target="_blank">Warwick's</a> in La Jolla, the oldest continually operating independent bookstore in the country, to promote my memoir, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=" target="_blank">Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</a></i>. I have to say, I had a great time talking about my journey and what I learned from it, as well as signing books for the audience, and now I want to share some of that talk with you.<br />
<br />
In this three-part series called <u>The Takeaway</u>, I will go over the key messages in both my speech and my book. These concepts are not just for cancer survivors, but for everyone. Whether it's how you view the world, how you treat others, or how you treat yourself, anyone can take away meaning from the lessons of my story and apply them to your life.<br />
<br />
In <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-takeaway-support-matters.html" target="_blank">Part One: Support Matters</a>, I addressed the need for cancer survivors to continue to receive support even after they enter remission. While battling cancer, many patients have a great deal of support from their community and medical team, but that support decreases drastically once someone is no longer battling cancer, and yet they continue to face complications as the result of their disease or treatment. It's imperative survivors continue to receive support so they can have the best lives possible.<br />
<br />
In this section, I will address the importance of mentality in dealing with the challenges of life. Whether it be cancer, physical and mental side effects, or other difficult or traumatic events, the key to getting through the toughest times is how you decide to look at it.<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Silver Linings and Funny Bones</h2>
<div>
There's a famous quote (one of my favorites) by the late great Yogi Berra, "Baseball is 90% mental, the other half is physical." Math aside, he's not wrong. And really, all of life is like that. Sure, it feels as if a lot of our existence if physical, a lot of our problems are physical, but really it's almost entirely about your mentality.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Crappy things will happen to you. It's as certain as certain can get, with few exceptions. Maybe you'll be one of the few lucky ones who goes through life and everything is rainbows and puppies and all that BS, and the worst thing to happen to you is you only win a ninety million dollars from the lottery instead of a hundred million. But if you're like most people, there will be difficulties, traumas, pain, loss. And when that happens, what are your options? That's the conundrum I faced when I was diagnosed with leukemia ten years ago. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I saw only two possibilities: Let it crush me, or push forward. I could cry and sob and complain about how life wasn't fair—I think I'd more than earned that right—but what good would that do me? I'd just be miserable, lying in a hospital bed for months. That didn't exactly sound what I'd call "fun," so I chose the other option: Do my best to enjoy myself. Whether it was through silver linings or humor, I worked to ensure I kept away the dark specter of despair. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtbMQba2MoBoa2w4iQGnIzxvrJ_iBaE2awBG0jQ5A5hveMMHYkMAVREwExPabxME_PLdJuDHT4ru_w9jjFgkNbCUB7_fQD5si7n8yXCC1-4BlFR6n5FBE5O2iE3NbFFi_nxak1cbXVb-y/s1600/IMG_2393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtbMQba2MoBoa2w4iQGnIzxvrJ_iBaE2awBG0jQ5A5hveMMHYkMAVREwExPabxME_PLdJuDHT4ru_w9jjFgkNbCUB7_fQD5si7n8yXCC1-4BlFR6n5FBE5O2iE3NbFFi_nxak1cbXVb-y/s320/IMG_2393.jpg" width="240" /></a>It's hard to imagine finding silver linings with such devastating traumas such as cancer, but I did what I could to find or invent as many as I could. Little things like discovering Skittles taste about the same going down as they do coming up, reading get-well cards, and not having to take finals (getting cancer isn't the best way to go about getting out of finals, in case you were wondering). It's amazing how many things we can be grateful for when you really start to look for them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But perhaps even more important than that was humor. I made a special effort to laugh out loud, or at least chuckle, as much as possible throughout my treatments. During the day, I watched old sitcoms with a nearly religious zeal—M*A*S*H, Frasier, Cheers, I've seen every episode at least twice, maybe even three or four times. I read books I enjoyed and could make me laugh—primarily works by Sir Terry Pratchett (seriously, check him out). I played jokes on the nurses, like pretending my mom gouged my eye out with a spoon while feeding me Jell-o. Laughter kept the darkness at bay—the black moods, the depression. It's not easy finding humor during such trying times, but the effort plays a huge part in how you deal with life's hardest moments—it helps you survive.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The key to surviving and overcoming challenges is mentality. The thing to remember is that life doesn't dictate how it affects you, <b>YOU </b>dictate how life affects you. The only person with control over how you feel is yourself, and that's crucial in every aspect of life—good and bad. That's not to say it's easy, far from it, but ultimately it is <i>your</i> choice. And that gives you the power to decide whether challenges beat you down...or you rise above it.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
Spreading the word about life after cancer is important. There are nearly sixteen million cancer survivors in the United States alone, and that number grows by a quarter of a million every year. With so many survivors out there, it is increasingly important that everyone—from the medical community to friends and family—finds ways to offer support once the cancer is gone. The more people realize what life is truly like for survivors, the greater the support we can give them, and the better their lives can become.<br />
<br />
Please share this so we can get the word out about the reality of life after cancer and give survivors the quality of life they deserve.<br />
<br />
Thank you,<br />
Andrew Bundy<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u><a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-takeaway-part-three.html" target="_blank">Part Three: The Only Failure is Giving Up</a></u></b><br />
Life can be difficult, and often we feel as though we've failed. However, there is only one way you can truly fail: when you stop trying.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-68553118297790152572017-06-27T16:32:00.002-07:002017-06-29T15:58:13.346-07:00The Takeaway Part One: Support Matters<h2 style="text-align: center;">
The Takeaway: Part One</h2>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0YQNRxtVh4Ehyz-NrSBMIMwaExXHicQySiHBc1CUBKUIwhrTiI0aitlS4U2GRkpdQrOZxZEqjvHj7Cfai3a_z2_94nYZLVmJt4WDmjHhVX92sCrfE-wXpcfM1zWvNCBsjvOSC-ZrSiRH/s1600/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0YQNRxtVh4Ehyz-NrSBMIMwaExXHicQySiHBc1CUBKUIwhrTiI0aitlS4U2GRkpdQrOZxZEqjvHj7Cfai3a_z2_94nYZLVmJt4WDmjHhVX92sCrfE-wXpcfM1zWvNCBsjvOSC-ZrSiRH/s200/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" width="132" /></a>Last week I went to <a href="http://www.warwicks.com/" target="_blank">Warwick's</a> in La Jolla, the oldest continually operating independent bookstore in the country, to promote my memoir, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=" target="_blank">Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</a></i>. I have to say, I had a great time talking about my journey and what I learned from it, as well as signing books for the audience.<br />
<br />
I wanted to share that talk with you, so the next few blog posts will go over the key messages in both my speech and my book in this three-part series called <u>The Takeaway</u>. These concepts are not just for cancer survivors, but for everyone. Whether it's how you view the world, how you treat others, or how you treat yourself, anyone can take away meaning from the lessons of my story and apply them to your life.<br />
<h2>
Cancer is Only the Beginning: Support Matters</h2>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUS9BrBdydZq8mqtumz609lAUcs4vhcfnJhWsZ3jTqSf4HnFOUjYhlEK2-eD7zHkd3a3_eyzjfj8KyZuiTAB6Yvbn6EQf8JIeFXYYEmwKwSmr2JIVjxFSTKTyZMIuA4_aHGz7EKGNq15x/s1600/TTNJ8740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUS9BrBdydZq8mqtumz609lAUcs4vhcfnJhWsZ3jTqSf4HnFOUjYhlEK2-eD7zHkd3a3_eyzjfj8KyZuiTAB6Yvbn6EQf8JIeFXYYEmwKwSmr2JIVjxFSTKTyZMIuA4_aHGz7EKGNq15x/s320/TTNJ8740.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with my friend Nick Hollon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is essentially the main message of my book. Many people know cancer to some extent, they've known people who have gone through treatment or maybe even went through treatment themselves. But what most people don't understand is that cancer is just the first step in a lifelong journey. After someone survives cancer, they are done forced to deal with the side-effects of the treatment and the trauma they endured. These range from the physical (such as chronic pain, exhaustion, weakened immune system) to the mental and emotional (like anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, depression). And while most cancer patients have plenty of support while going through chemotherapy or radiation and other treatments, once they enter remission, that support tends to evaporate faster than spit on the sun. Yet, they are still experiencing complications—in some cases the challenges of life after cancer are more difficult than when they were dealing with cancer. This was certainly true for me—though I acknowledge this is not the case for all survivors. So it is exceedingly important to continue to offer survivors support even after they enter remission.<br />
<br />
Support can come in many forms. Each person's journey into life after cancer is different. Some might need help getting groceries from the store or cooking a meal. Others might need a shoulder to cry on. And many just want to be able to hang out with people they care about and not worry about being judged or thought of as "fragile" or different than the person they used to be. So if you know someone who has survived cancer, ask how you can help. Maybe they don't need help at all, but just offering can sometimes be the show of support they're looking for. And for survivors, don't be afraid to ask for help—it's not a sign of weakness if you feel like you could use assistance, it's just how it is. There is no shame in it. Everyone needs help at some time or another, and when they do, the best thing to do is ask for it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
Spreading the word about life after cancer is important. There are nearly sixteen million cancer survivors in the United States alone, and that number grows by a quarter of a million every year. With so many survivors out there, it is increasingly important that everyone—from the medical community to friends and family—finds ways to offer support once the cancer is gone. The more people realize what life is truly like for survivors, the greater the support we can give them, and the better their lives can become.<br />
<br />
Please share this so we can get the word out about the reality of life after cancer and give survivors the quality of life they deserve.<br />
<br />
Thank you,<br />
Andrew Bundy<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b><a href="https://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2017/06/takeaway-part-two-mentality-and-humor.html" target="_blank">Part Two: Mentality and Humor</a></b></u><br />
It is important to keep a positive attitude throughout even the toughest times. How you view and deal with life's problems is entirely up to you. Life doesn't dictate how it affects you, <i>you</i> dictate how life affects you.<br />
<b><u><a href="https://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-takeaway-part-three.html" target="_blank">Part Three: The Only Failure is Giving Up</a></u></b><br />
Life can be difficult, and often we feel as though we've failed. However, there is only one way you can truly fail: when you stop trying.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-42175679580702741072017-06-07T17:42:00.000-07:002017-06-07T17:45:48.215-07:00Ten-Year DiagnosversaryIt's hard to fathom, but it's been a decade since my life flipped on its head, to put it mildly. It feels longer, it feels a lot shorter. But this, what I have now, it's all I remember. Here's how it started, and what happened since. If you want to get a really in-depth look at the journey, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=" target="_blank">my book is available on Amazon</a>. Shameless plug out of the way, here's the start of the new me.<br />
<br />
Ten years ago today, I woke in the hospital in a state of uncertainty. I'd been admitted to the hospital a week before with a 104.5°F fever and touching tonsils. Days of tests and negative results later, one doctor came in and said he'd found a few free-floating blast cells. "We're not sure, but it might be leukemia."<br />
<br />
That was the day before. That morning, I was pretty sure it would come out negative just like all the others. And yet, there was that part of me, the part that's always been there, that told me this was real. So when the doctor came in and asked to speak with my mom outside, I wasn't surprised, just tired. I hadn't really slept the night before, too annoyed at constant nurses' interruptions and a 6am jackhammer to actually approach sleep in any real form. My mom came in, and there was utter devastation on her face. She'd held out hope even when I hadn't. And then she told me. "It's leukemia."<br />
<br />
I thought I'd be upset, but I wasn't. Just numb. I thought emotions would pop up, but they didn't. I just sat there, absorbing my new life, and then faded out. I guess I imploded, just stopped existing—it seemed a far better option than being me at that moment.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNMXcV1bIWg9rSfCCkssAjdvU3a-r2c1aNi37scgaRq5hWhBYtZ4G3bCYInPoE_rgGbGdPipMZuOAKQdB5qSB8iT5sDKSC7uD3hgLMzT-LdLDsYG_CdI6heGhw_QdiTXEgxICKg_BteR7/s1600/197902_1002910026951_8465_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNMXcV1bIWg9rSfCCkssAjdvU3a-r2c1aNi37scgaRq5hWhBYtZ4G3bCYInPoE_rgGbGdPipMZuOAKQdB5qSB8iT5sDKSC7uD3hgLMzT-LdLDsYG_CdI6heGhw_QdiTXEgxICKg_BteR7/s320/197902_1002910026951_8465_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The rest of the day was spent going over the treatment and a bunch of other stuff, but I couldn't hold onto a thought to save my life—besides, keeping me alive was the doctor's job, gave me plenty of time to tangent my brains out. Everything from wondering how the hospital masks made the air taste like the texture of cardboard to what I'd done in a previous life to deserve this to wondering what it must be like to walk down the hall to one's execution to how white the walls were in every single room.<br />
<br />
But I never, ever, ever, ever would have guessed in a septillion years what lay in store for me over the next ten years of my life. Cancer, eh, wasn't too bad. I mean, lots of puking, sure that sucked, and so did the pain, and the hair loss and the emotional trauma of, you know, cancer and stuff—but had I known what was coming, I would have wished I could stay like that for the rest of my life.<br />
<br />
See, everyone told me stories about all these other survivors who got cancer, fought the good fight, and then recovered and went on to do great things and their lives were fine. So when I entered remission, I was stoked—no more hospital!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTrT90iyNceyWvyZahXOfJYbPOi9XYupOdk7Ri-Q5xenqMQQKY36AlFqKOtBNNSWIBcaXzd18AWswKyiW7ASQM1-tUUBP-NnZ6478wAlMfXI3SL-UVNPjBMb7trzEA1IebfwRGYVqmkw9/s1600/IMG_0183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTrT90iyNceyWvyZahXOfJYbPOi9XYupOdk7Ri-Q5xenqMQQKY36AlFqKOtBNNSWIBcaXzd18AWswKyiW7ASQM1-tUUBP-NnZ6478wAlMfXI3SL-UVNPjBMb7trzEA1IebfwRGYVqmkw9/s320/IMG_0183.jpg" width="240" /></a>At least, until the treatment that had saved my life turned on me and tried to shut my lungs down. Until I had to be put into a coma. Until I was given two weeks to live. Until I miraculously managed to survive and found myself a hundred pounds heavier, with joints that were starting to deteriorate, with a drug addiction to the opiates used to keep me comfortable when I was supposed to be in my last few days of life, with flashbacks and memories I wanted to shut away and forget but never could.<br />
<br />
That's how I found out the truth—cancer was only the beginning. There are side effects of getting to life, and I thought I was alone in that for a long time, that I was some aberrant statistic and every other cancer survivor had a great life. But then I learned I wasn't the only one. In fact, far from it. Really, survivors have a whole slew of physical, mental, and emotional side effects from their treatments.<br />
<br />
So I decided to make something of my experience. I spent years writing a book between numerous joint replacement surgeries, telling the story of how life after cancer can be just as difficult as cancer itself, how the battle isn't really ever over, how we need to continue to support survivors long after their cancer is gone. And, finally, I published it.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUGSUGaJQPT7zvm981vpoISMyZAckDi74-p2Crbf3MS5Jfcs0NjW-Cu3-t7yG1XZSThiZkN0y1SI1PFg3ckkp-nXsrleBdGTsiEAOAS2NMxEygPXHhjytnBG9ky5G3W1IbQ9AsASvomhS/s1600/IMG_0151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUGSUGaJQPT7zvm981vpoISMyZAckDi74-p2Crbf3MS5Jfcs0NjW-Cu3-t7yG1XZSThiZkN0y1SI1PFg3ckkp-nXsrleBdGTsiEAOAS2NMxEygPXHhjytnBG9ky5G3W1IbQ9AsASvomhS/s400/IMG_0151.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two fake hips, one fake knee, one donor knee, <br />
two donor ankles with screws, shoulders not in view</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In these last ten years, I've had ten joint replacements, with more to come. I've dealt with drug addiction, chronic pain, trauma, depression, anxiety, a body covered in scars, the realization my super-awesome-beautiful hair was never coming back, a nervous breakdown, and lots of "little" things that would take up pages and pages to list.<br />
<br />
Yet, here I am. Alive. Trying my best to make something of all this. Laughing through it as best I can, fighting the pain in my bones and in my head, struggling to create a life I can truly enjoy. So, no, life after cancer isn't all puppies and rainbows and you'll be perfectly fine, but it's not unlivable. Despite it all, there have been things I've enjoyed, and I found a purpose. That's how you survive, that's how you take all this crap and do something with it, you find meaning in it. And how did I find that purpose?<br />
<br />
I made my own.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-54495759080599629172017-05-23T17:37:00.000-07:002017-06-02T15:03:39.941-07:00Surgery Update and a Chance to Get a Free BookHey all,<br />
<br />
Sorry, I lost track of a lot of things over the last few weeks, and so I totally forgot to let you know how the surgery went. There's a lot, so I'll try to summarize it.<br />
<br />
Doctor said the surgery went perfectly. For those who don't know, I had my right knee totally replaced, which is joint replacement number ten. I'm now only three away from obtaining the world record. I was surprised at how easy walking was, and was out of bed not long after I woke up from surgery. What sucks are the exercises. Bending was not easy, and for over a month I was struggling with simple range of motion, but with the swelling mostly gone and after a lot of work, I've whittled away a lot of the stiffness. Currently, I'm able to bend the knee to 117°. The other goes to about 130°, so I'm pretty close to returning to a normal range of motion. When I saw the doctor last week, he was pleased with my progress and said everything is coming along well so far. I get to drive again!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV-Mp98Pt3ht4qP6KdcasQDkmd38vguahfmTuIvfx9Tp3_eEjgpdF93YEHJh2_ZeBIvSlUrf1o0K_3yBBckefM6R5MB3dIfZx5X3msE8zBZQ3WOy1J8vqJfwujeDQWvmTiCVsGl6apLxS/s1600/IMG_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV-Mp98Pt3ht4qP6KdcasQDkmd38vguahfmTuIvfx9Tp3_eEjgpdF93YEHJh2_ZeBIvSlUrf1o0K_3yBBckefM6R5MB3dIfZx5X3msE8zBZQ3WOy1J8vqJfwujeDQWvmTiCVsGl6apLxS/s320/IMG_0154.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWkSBPBR3G9RS-igNXjbRKwfluSW7wQCKATtcY_JBmY2sTHKuMjzFi7UjympfoyYL_wxgVOWql92pyjR2CAVtBgk05c9nrkg99X8nGt4Yz8egJ7G9ppSVAAME0QMX8KrUvd34awWEQpZ7/s1600/IMG_0152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWkSBPBR3G9RS-igNXjbRKwfluSW7wQCKATtcY_JBmY2sTHKuMjzFi7UjympfoyYL_wxgVOWql92pyjR2CAVtBgk05c9nrkg99X8nGt4Yz8egJ7G9ppSVAAME0QMX8KrUvd34awWEQpZ7/s320/IMG_0152.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm happy to say my memoir, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=" target="_blank">Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</a>,</i> had a great weekend in book sales. Last weekend, (May 12-14), several hundred copies were downloaded on Amazon. Since the book came out, I've been working hard on all the marketing and publicity myself, and have had some good results so far. There is still a lot to do, but that's pretty much always true when it comes to marketing. I'm also glad to hear so many people have enjoyed the book and the writing, as well as the message of the reality of life after cancer.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGLibH-7YxzYsVlQdYX7X3DvE1biL45ceDxy05ycsQXZ8dtlsPwngV7wl0Krw9YRUuXFCD7YX3DmleIL4AmnWBN2wir9sZxb5Kz0RR7xfQWfIeL4qTsE9CcxwDAZKsQDtVdollXHI2JiA/s1600/IMG_0169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGLibH-7YxzYsVlQdYX7X3DvE1biL45ceDxy05ycsQXZ8dtlsPwngV7wl0Krw9YRUuXFCD7YX3DmleIL4AmnWBN2wir9sZxb5Kz0RR7xfQWfIeL4qTsE9CcxwDAZKsQDtVdollXHI2JiA/s320/IMG_0169.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Saturday, I went to the San Diego Writing Workshop. It was really informative and helpful, and the speaker, Brian Klems, was hilarious. It was especially helpful with regards to publishing and getting an agent. I'm currently querying agents to find someone to help promote my book and garner more publicity for it. Fingers crossed.<br />
<br />
Haven't read the book yet? Then maybe you want to participate in the...<br />
<br />
<h3>
<b>Book Giveaway</b></h3>
Want to receive a free copy of my memoir? I'm currently running a <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/239137-surviving-the-cure-cancer-was-easy-living-is-hard" target="_blank">Goodreads giveaway</a>. There are 25 print copies available, all you have to do is click and you're entered to win one of these books!<br />
<br />
I'd also like to ask anyone who has already purchased the book to leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I'm always curious to see what people think of my writing.<br />
<br />
Thanks to everyone who has supported me since my diagnosis, and to all those who have helped me with the book and getting it out there, it has all meant a great deal to me.<br />
<br />
Until next time (which isn't going to be nearly as long),<br />
CiaoAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-34258266972330407792017-04-04T17:13:00.003-07:002017-04-04T17:13:53.448-07:00Another Joint Closer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYQ5eAd6iIeATCjGBtXyg4b0WyJrfuzaLGmeKP4mWhzBca38arUVJ2YbxZpZzEkFz7j1wZjxDx0rMmv3u7xVuyHI7xE5jkk8UTC0M2tXdDNFOL35-EF681Y0OY_AFpo_pVBFGz3VAdK3v/s1600/uni-tkr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYQ5eAd6iIeATCjGBtXyg4b0WyJrfuzaLGmeKP4mWhzBca38arUVJ2YbxZpZzEkFz7j1wZjxDx0rMmv3u7xVuyHI7xE5jkk8UTC0M2tXdDNFOL35-EF681Y0OY_AFpo_pVBFGz3VAdK3v/s320/uni-tkr.jpg" width="320" /></a>Well, tomorrow's #10. Ten joint replacements. I guess I'm a deca-replacer (that's a horrible name, I'll work on it). I'm getting my right knee replaced, again. The first time was a partial replacement that did well for a few years, but pain has cropped up in other parts of the knee, so, time to hack it out. I still have a few surgeries after that, but it's a good step toward being able to live a better life. And also to being a robot. That's the ultimate goal. And getting the world record for most joints replaced. I guess there's a lot of goals.<br />
<br />
The other goal is my book. Over the last few weeks I've been putting out a lot of feelers with regards to my memoir, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=" target="_blank">Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</a></i>, and it's paying off. I've gotten interest from a couple national cancer magazines about my story and work to educate people about the challenges survivors face after cancer. I'm crossing my fingers about getting it published, so we'll see where it goes.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwi1OgKkLyN80n5uXruABXhN1ozJygG3JJrRbMwVMePGXLSQaiBIohGehuYElKrIwR4jZxn8E2elOenzlT1j1gHDMf0qqK8MlO4ERZTmMUF9gXWTBybCTLWrWRpqwf_8FDjYBzhsG2WJLk/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-02-24+at+11.31.07+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwi1OgKkLyN80n5uXruABXhN1ozJygG3JJrRbMwVMePGXLSQaiBIohGehuYElKrIwR4jZxn8E2elOenzlT1j1gHDMf0qqK8MlO4ERZTmMUF9gXWTBybCTLWrWRpqwf_8FDjYBzhsG2WJLk/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-02-24+at+11.31.07+PM.png" width="320" /></a>And, do you want to win free copies of my book and other prizes? I'm running a referral contest on <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/surviving-the-cure-cancer-is-only-the-beginning/x/16020904#/" target="_blank">Surviving the Cure's IndieGoGo campaign</a>. You can either donate, yourself, or you can share the campaign and get free prizes based on how much your friends and family donate. All you have to do is go to the campaign page, find the share tools to the right of the "Back It" button, and use that so your referrals can be tracked and rewarded! The money is going to helping me raise awareness for the challenges cancer survivors face in order to improve their support and quality of care, and also to let them know they aren't alone in having to deal with problems.<br />
<br />
I'll update you guys after surgery, when I'm coherent enough to update you, anyway.<br />
Well...coherent-ish.<br />
<br />
Ciao<br />
<br />
PS: If you buy the hard copy of my book and bring it to me, I'll sign it. Even if I'm not that coherent, which might make it <i>really</i> interesting.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-23207032144505362892017-03-15T17:05:00.000-07:002017-03-15T17:05:31.836-07:00Surviving the Cure: Now in Print<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7SVpuEcn13GX940aD5w7XpP9k1EhIdGDWvg89bx0IgXGgi-yisW9Yl8KMKzibMvrS4rwP6uGnp2zL_0mtxk5a4toFCwg3rlp15PI-yu2qWsiPLYqHuRxz6RsdPTZWInd3IDDp1sRV9MR/s1600/IMG_6199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7SVpuEcn13GX940aD5w7XpP9k1EhIdGDWvg89bx0IgXGgi-yisW9Yl8KMKzibMvrS4rwP6uGnp2zL_0mtxk5a4toFCwg3rlp15PI-yu2qWsiPLYqHuRxz6RsdPTZWInd3IDDp1sRV9MR/s320/IMG_6199.jpg" width="240" /></a>Well, it's finally here! <i>Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard </i>is now in both print and ebook on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living/dp/0998604704/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1489622124&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon</a>. It has taken four years to see this book through, but the time has finally come where I can say, "It is finished." Except for the marketing. And publicity. And everything else. But <i>besides</i> that, it is finished!<br />
<br />
Speaking of finished, the <a href="https://www.surviving-the-cure.com/" target="_blank">official Surviving the Cure website</a> is now up and running, too! You can go there to learn more about the memoir, the author, see endorsements from doctors and survivors, and see pictures that relate to the book and the ongoing saga that is my life.<br />
<br />
You can also read about the book in the latest issue of 92064 Magazine: <a href="http://92064magazine.com/2017/03/05/local-resident-publishes-memoir-about-life-after-cancer/" target="_blank">Local Resident Publishes Memoir About Life After Cancer</a>.<br />
<br />
I would like to say thank you to everyone who has been following this blog, and a very big thank you to everyone who helped with the book, I couldn't have done it without you guys.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-24160200756198079442017-02-28T15:07:00.003-08:002017-02-28T15:53:22.791-08:00Surviving the Cure ebook Now Available!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mQ-I0M4cAU-TjLypqOcqCganazXZ2tnEfWXLgOYficwY2f1iTmaUw_yNp-1pDPPI7rwfRimVAeopBSaC-KM8R0tcvF7g_hhC8vjMkGJILQH2xGnrt8ooyET7MHJUaL2KlGQjiS_d7zm8/s1600/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mQ-I0M4cAU-TjLypqOcqCganazXZ2tnEfWXLgOYficwY2f1iTmaUw_yNp-1pDPPI7rwfRimVAeopBSaC-KM8R0tcvF7g_hhC8vjMkGJILQH2xGnrt8ooyET7MHJUaL2KlGQjiS_d7zm8/s320/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" width="209" /></a>I am proud to announce that <i>Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</i> is now available to purchase on Amazon as an ebook! It's been a long four years to get my memoir published, but it's finally out there, folks. <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Surviving-Cure-Cancer-Easy-Living-ebook/dp/B06XBH5937/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1488321194&sr=8-2&keywords=surviving+the+cure" target="_blank">Click here</a></b> to buy the book!<br />
<br />
This is a major step in my efforts to raise awareness for the difficulties that face cancer survivors after they enter remission. While most people think once you "beat" cancer, that's the end of the story, the truth is: cancer is only the beginning, and life after cancer ain't no walk in the park. If you want to learn more about the many potential challenges that crop up for survivors, read my book and learn the truth about the least discussed, and one of the most important, aspects of cancer.<br />
<br />
If you want to help my advocacy for cancer survivors, please check out my <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/surviving-the-cure-a-post-cancer-memoir-cancer/x/16020904#/updates" target="_blank"><b>crowdfunding campaign</b></a> and watch the video. The donations not only go toward the book, but also to help increase my efforts to increase awareness for survivorship and let others survivors know they are not the only ones battling the issues they face. You can also receive perks for donating, including signed copies of the book or inclusion on a special thank you page in the next edition.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Here is what doctors and survivors are saying about </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">"Andrew Bundy's captivating
memoir has an unexpected focus seldom explored in the story of
cancer: survivorship. [He] invites us into the intimate, deeply
private struggle of coming to terms with life after cancer. With humor
and candor, Andrew sends a powerful message about
the significant medical and emotional issues that shape life after
treatment and illuminates the critical need for programs that
support young cancer survivors."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Anna Pawlowska, MD<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Director, Pediatric
Hematopoietic Stem Cell Transplant Program</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">City
of Hope Medical Center </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Holy $%*!, your story is almost EXACTLY
my own. And your thoughts and feelings. Gave me chills…It is incredible to know
there is someone out there that COMPLETELY understands."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rebecca </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Acute Myeloid Leukemia Survivor—17
years in remission</span><!--EndFragment-->
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmKA7vzoJCCYafyGs9NvJbRy-0Oiy-tWb7u1jIF5n8h6jOAKgheZtCk4tcyO6sWGZjc_Upxdqj_FRc7TnxFWi7miBX356GZWcartWyrpJWY1B6-B1vo0bYGfJKKMyi9zDLRDsY95R8ro_/s1600/Plutotine+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmKA7vzoJCCYafyGs9NvJbRy-0Oiy-tWb7u1jIF5n8h6jOAKgheZtCk4tcyO6sWGZjc_Upxdqj_FRc7TnxFWi7miBX356GZWcartWyrpJWY1B6-B1vo0bYGfJKKMyi9zDLRDsY95R8ro_/s200/Plutotine+2.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For all those who buy the book</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The print copy of the book will soon be available. It is still in review, but should be ready within the next 24 hours if everything goes well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I would encourage anyone who purchases the book to please leave a review on Amazon. It goes a long way to helping boost visibility of my message about the challenges of survivorship.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!</span><br />
<br />
PS: For those unfamiliar with my story or the memoir, please direct your attention to the top of the page to read the <a href="https://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/p/cancer-and-cure.html" target="_blank"><b>About Me</b></a> page and the <a href="https://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/p/memoir-surviving-cure.html" target="_blank"><b>Memoir</b></a> page.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-40538817914992779072017-02-25T17:07:00.002-08:002017-02-25T17:16:05.929-08:00Surviving the Cure Excerpt: Humor MeHey everyone! I'm going to be putting out excerpts for my memoir, <i>Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard</i>, for the next few days.<br />
<i>(*relatively speaking)</i><br />
<br />
Today scene comes from early May 2008, when my oxygen levels were so low it was causing neurological issues, and unbeknownst to me, my doctors had given me two weeks to live. But I had enough lucidity to know I needed to find a way to stay sane and keep me spirits up. Turns out, that way was humor.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Humor Me</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I pranked people during my many
stays in and out of the hospitals. But by far one of my favorites was the “fake
injury” gag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
One of my favorite snacks in the
hospital was Jell-O. It was an all-purpose food that required absolutely no
energy to eat, which was good, because I wasn’t well enough to even lift the
spoon up to my mouth sometimes. Most days Mom would have to feed me. My
favorite was cherry. The red mush sometimes reminded me of gore, something I
was now far too familiar with, but it gave me an idea.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Can ya call the nurse in?”</div>
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“How come?” Mom asked. “Are you
okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Yeah, I’m fine. Jus’ call’er in.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
“And tell her what?”</div>
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“Jus’ that I need help with sumpin’.
Cummon, it’ll be funny,” I giggled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
Suspicious, but with a smile at my
rare laughter, she called the nurses’ station and managed to convince them to
send over a nurse. “So what is it that will be so funny?” she asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
I told her my plan. We’d make it look
like I had sneezed while my mom was bringing the spoon up to my mouth and
stabbed me in the eye. I would have my hand over my eye with bits of cherry Jell-O
leaking out from between my fingers. I summoned up what remained of my acting
prowess to sell the fake injury. Mom managed to stop laughing right before the
nurse arrived.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXspE3yChQq7r8oTy4Wd2vpOfvST2WZ4h7h372LQMgTe9hHcow-HsKa0DTTmIl_w6JYDqydciCjJdfDLYq7Ug7KHk2Da2gu5Tz-neL-TUXpYsh75eMDImR_YKsya6qfQjlMAAkdE3dHKpe/s1600/IMG_2391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXspE3yChQq7r8oTy4Wd2vpOfvST2WZ4h7h372LQMgTe9hHcow-HsKa0DTTmIl_w6JYDqydciCjJdfDLYq7Ug7KHk2Da2gu5Tz-neL-TUXpYsh75eMDImR_YKsya6qfQjlMAAkdE3dHKpe/s320/IMG_2391.jpg" width="240" /></a>When the nurse came in, I was
groaning and holding my eye. The nurse’s face immediately drained of color and
she shakily asked what was going on. “She got muh eye while she’s feedin’ me,”
I moaned. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
The nurse spun on her heels and muttered
something about getting the doctor. She was almost out of the room by the time
my frantic calls stopped her. “No, i’s okay! I’s jus’ Jell-O!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
Looking less than amused, the nurse
came back. I pulled my hand away to reveal a perfectly intact eye, surrounded
by a red stain, and an impish grin. “That wasn’t funny,” she puffed, but smiled
with relief. Then she chuckled softly and shook her head. “You’re an odd one.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-right: 1.4pt; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 6.0in; text-indent: .25in;">
Yes I was, and proud of it.</div>
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Sometimes the humor came from outside,
such as a card I received from a class of kids taught by one of our neighbors.
“I hope you get out of the hospital and Hell soon.” I laughed hard enough for
it to hurt, but it was worth it. The amusement came with joy and made
everything seem all right. Get out of Hell indeed. I now had a “Get Out of Hell
Free” card. I know she meant “heal,” but beneath the laughter, I couldn’t shake
the feeling that her card might be more accurate than she intended.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="text-indent: 0px;">That's all for now. Stay tuned for more excerpts and updates on my memoir!</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0px;"><br /></span>
I'd appreciate it if you shared this with your friends. I'm publishing my book to share the rarely told story about what life after cancer is really like. With more awareness, more eyes (or eye, depending on if someone stabbed you with a spoon of Jell-O), on this issue, we can educate people about the difficulties facing survivors in a life after cancer, and be able to give them the support and quality of care they need to live rich, fulfilling lives.<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading, and especially for sharing,<br />
~Andrew BundyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-587429965263938862017-02-22T17:08:00.001-08:002017-02-22T17:54:44.642-08:00The Big Reveal: Excerpt, Donations, and Watch Me Get SlappedSo, as most of you know, I'm getting ready to publish my memoir, <i>Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard (*relatively speaking). </i>And now, I've set a release date: February 28, 2017. That's right, in one week, this, all of this, will be DONE and ready for YOUR consumption! My relief is indescribable. Four years of sweat, tears, and blood (mostly from paper cuts) have gone into writing this thing, plus nearly a full decade of cancer-ness, side effect-ness, and existence-ness that is the foundation of the book, and now it's about to be thrust into the world to make a difference.<br />
<br />
If you want to learn more about my memoir and see <b>advanced praise</b> from doctors and survivors alike, <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/p/memoir-surviving-cure.html">click here</a> for more information.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mQ-I0M4cAU-TjLypqOcqCganazXZ2tnEfWXLgOYficwY2f1iTmaUw_yNp-1pDPPI7rwfRimVAeopBSaC-KM8R0tcvF7g_hhC8vjMkGJILQH2xGnrt8ooyET7MHJUaL2KlGQjiS_d7zm8/s1600/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mQ-I0M4cAU-TjLypqOcqCganazXZ2tnEfWXLgOYficwY2f1iTmaUw_yNp-1pDPPI7rwfRimVAeopBSaC-KM8R0tcvF7g_hhC8vjMkGJILQH2xGnrt8ooyET7MHJUaL2KlGQjiS_d7zm8/s320/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" width="213" /></a></div>
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But that's not all I've been working on. I've also just opened an <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/surviving-the-cure-a-post-cancer-memoir-cancer/x/16020904">IndieGoGo Crowdfunding Campaign</a> to help raise money to spread the message about the truth of life after cancer and to help with my future survivorship advocacy efforts. All donations are welcome, and there are some awesome perks for donating! Including Social Media Shout Outs and Signed Copies of <i>Surviving the Cure</i>! And they're even signed by ME! Le gasp!<br />
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Please share our Crowdfunding Campaign, and also our YouTube video! Want to see me get slapped? Then you'll love this video!<br />
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And because you guys are so awesome, I'm also including a sneak peek at my memoir!<br />
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Until we meet again. Well, not meet. Until you visit again? Something like that.<br />
Ciao<br />
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<span style="font-family: "bangla mn"; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 40px;">Bump</span><span style="font-family: "bangla mn"; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 40px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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In a way, it was a soothing motion—the gentle rocking back and forth as the uneven wheels rolled across the linoleum floor, surrounded by neutral white walls. </div>
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“Watch out for the bump,” the orderly said. </div>
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In another time, another place, to another person, it would have been hilarious. </div>
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“Watch out!” As if I had some control over whether we would be going over the bump or not. As if anything I did could affect the oncoming obstacle. Some part of me must have laughed, but it didn’t bother sharing the joke with the rest of my numbed body. </div>
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In terms of humor, it’s hard to beat a hefty dose of irony doing its best impersonation of a cream pie. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wham!</i> Unavoidable, literally in your face—shocking, instantaneous. Today, that cream pie was this orderly, wheeling me to a fate I could never have even begun to imagine, warning me about this little bump when not thirty minutes earlier I’d had the mother of all bombshells dropped on my head. When my life and future vaporized so quickly and completely that all that remained were faint shadows where once they stood.</div>
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In the rare moments of lucidity during the slow walk—I guess more of a roll—I marveled at how quickly a life could come apart. How fragile and on the verge of collapse we are that the tiniest thing can be enough to topple our body. It’s like you’re a house of cards that believes it’s constructed from steel and concrete and mortar so tough that nothing short of the destruction of the Earth would topple it. That’s why it’s so shocking when you learn the truth—that under the thin veneer of confidence and surety is a wobbly framework ready to implode at the drop of a hat. </div>
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A week. That’s all it took for my house of cards to come crashing down. From young adult on the cusp of spreading his wings and embarking on his first flight of independence to a mess of malfunctioning cells. From a bright life ahead to an imminent dark death. And all it had taken was one word. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Leukemia.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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“Watch out for the bump.” I had as much control over that bump as I did the next few months. Maybe more. I could have gotten out of the chair and stepped over this obstacle. I didn’t, but at least it was an option. My future offered no real options. Chemical warfare or certain death, take your pick. “A wise choice, sir. We have an excellent selection of noxious chemicals for you today, only the very best vintage for you, young sir!” </div>
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For both the bump and my new life, all I could do was hold on tight and pray for the best…and hope that would be enough.</div>
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Bump-bump went the wheels. </div>
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Bump-bump went my heart. </div>
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Bump-bump went my life.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-574315912502813362017-02-03T17:21:00.001-08:002017-02-03T17:21:16.730-08:00No Surgeries? We Can Fix ThatFirst, I want to thank those who participated in the poll to pick my cover. I have selected and finalized the design. So, without further ado...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrYQkjWbVj2bftFAuJ07IUhQ8yYqFv-pZU3JD6JDhS2hhro55uTkEPYiE_dSTkZyus_aVSzuA0CjalSfyjEft8VNjFE9cDz4VIP4W-aWJgyGF6CpmtM-j_EQymdjs5ZWCXkgwj-rJ1IAp/s1600/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrYQkjWbVj2bftFAuJ07IUhQ8yYqFv-pZU3JD6JDhS2hhro55uTkEPYiE_dSTkZyus_aVSzuA0CjalSfyjEft8VNjFE9cDz4VIP4W-aWJgyGF6CpmtM-j_EQymdjs5ZWCXkgwj-rJ1IAp/s400/Surviving+the+cure+cover_Front.tif" width="266" /></a></div>
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I am very pleased with how it turned out. I feel it does an excellent job embodying my story and the truth of what life after cancer is <i>really</i> like.</div>
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My next post will talk more about the book, including its release date and an excerpt. Information regarding my book can be found <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/p/memoir-surviving-cure.html">here</a>, or at the top of the page in the Memoir: Surviving the Cure section. </div>
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Now, I want to share what has been going on the past few weeks with me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk_-6NEw5yooTwYqvIEiM0uVmUZFoEy_STvRf5frbCIKeEavIwIH98yJwU-wDoCs71KeeDJTURTrX3XAY5C0eajkQqXxTJVZ3OcO_q8YPFnlm_YqWryU_sKD6u8vrkiLCgYCnNjIyLtB1/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-02-03+at+5.11.30+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk_-6NEw5yooTwYqvIEiM0uVmUZFoEy_STvRf5frbCIKeEavIwIH98yJwU-wDoCs71KeeDJTURTrX3XAY5C0eajkQqXxTJVZ3OcO_q8YPFnlm_YqWryU_sKD6u8vrkiLCgYCnNjIyLtB1/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-02-03+at+5.11.30+PM.png" width="320" /></a>A few weeks ago, I realized something astonishing. I didn't have a single surgery all of last year! That's right, 2016 is the first year I've gone without surgery since...well, I was diagnosed actually. That didn't sit well with me, so I'm having two surgeries—and possibly up to four—to make up for it. For sure, I know I have to replace my right knee (I did a partial replacement in 2012, but the damage in the original part of the bone causes a lot of pain). Also, I have a screw loose—but let's get back to surgery. I'll be having an arthroscopy on my right ankle to clear out arthritis and remove the screws from my 2010 ankle allograft (replacement). I also have to get my left knee replaced (same situation as right knee), and might have the rest of the screws removed from my left ankle (<a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2016/01/end-of-absentia.html">I had one removed in November 2015</a>), but whether those take place this year or the next is still up in the air. But having both knees replaced will bring me up to 11 joints replaced—one off tying the <u><b>world record</b></u>! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">No, not THAT World Record!</td></tr>
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Yesterday, I had my hips checked out. They've been hurting for the last few months. However, the doctor said they looked fine. I was glad to hear that, but then a little part of me whispered, "Yeah, but now you have to wait to replace them and get the record!" So...bummer? Somewhat conflicted, but definitely leaning toward being happy not to have to hack off my body parts.</div>
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On a different track, I've been engaging more in the cancer community, in particular the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's online forum. Mostly, I give advice to people and discuss what life after cancer is <i>really</i> like, not what most people think. It's messy, there's usually numerous complications and problems (see world record attempt), and the amount of support is drastically reduced compared to when someone is actually going through cancer treatments. But that's why I'm writing my story, to educate the public on the reality of survivors. My goal is to help advocate for survivors to help get them the best quality of life possible. Fingers crossed. </div>
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Until next time,</div>
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~Andrew</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-72883279705199157512017-01-16T12:00:00.000-08:002017-01-16T12:00:31.428-08:00Memoir Cover Design PollHowdy,<br />
<br />
That's my country-talk quota for the year.<br />
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I'm getting ready to publish my memoir <i>Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard (*relatively speaking)</i>, and I've been working all week on cover designs with a number of different graphic artists. Now, the field has been whittled down to only a handful of designs.<br />
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I would love your help in choosing which cover to use for my memoir, and welcome any feedback you might have regarding any of the designs. I'll provide you with a link to the poll being conducted on the website I've been using for the covers, and thank you for your assistance, it's a great help to me!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Click here to vote! —> <a href="https://99designs.com/contests/poll/4wel0e">Surviving the Cure Cover Poll</a></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCMJixmQihFXAi8aM55gw9jk9NHeptWo82284SUgMwFSk_ETN9SXkcEmHuyOhyphenhyphen4d2sBhUWrKAawyG8Nr_l8BFRzaSm_UzV02el3m0u8HbsQVtrbsIqVEqiV6jO8CJZEOUwCWIxsZShJOz/s1600/politics-poll-polling-questions-questionaire-questionaires-jfa0302_low.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCMJixmQihFXAi8aM55gw9jk9NHeptWo82284SUgMwFSk_ETN9SXkcEmHuyOhyphenhyphen4d2sBhUWrKAawyG8Nr_l8BFRzaSm_UzV02el3m0u8HbsQVtrbsIqVEqiV6jO8CJZEOUwCWIxsZShJOz/s400/politics-poll-polling-questions-questionaire-questionaires-jfa0302_low.jpg" width="386" /></a></div>
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That's all I have for today. I'll be sure to keep you updated on the progress of my book and announce the winning cover design shortly!<br />
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~Andrew BundyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-57684955856109345162016-12-15T16:30:00.000-08:002016-12-15T16:30:29.219-08:00A Finished Memoir and Double DigitsEight months. It feels longer, shorter. My focus hasn't been on time, it's been on productivity. On staying sane. Staying on task. And there's been a lot going on. But really, the big, most important news, is this: After six drafts, four major surgeries, three and a half years, one nervous breakdown, much consternation, (and a partridge in a pear tree)... <b><i><u>I finished my memoir</u></i></b>!<br />
<i>Surviving the Cure: Cancer was Easy,* Living is Hard.</i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*relatively speaking</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLsp5QqU25_m_3MqLxlrlXDDgaMfcBKRb1ovA2aIP61JKkiOwoA3BsC8IwaWZX0vyQ3BRQEwxuO5tYy6IYNtHk2BW-WbOO6xWhyphenhyphen3kFsSg6eVGM5DaIoRbyrHHfJePXAMswqBcwROQVGGW/s1600/IMG_6039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLsp5QqU25_m_3MqLxlrlXDDgaMfcBKRb1ovA2aIP61JKkiOwoA3BsC8IwaWZX0vyQ3BRQEwxuO5tYy6IYNtHk2BW-WbOO6xWhyphenhyphen3kFsSg6eVGM5DaIoRbyrHHfJePXAMswqBcwROQVGGW/s320/IMG_6039.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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That's right. I have done about as much as I can with this thing. It has been written, edited, and formatted to the point continuing to work on it is nitpicking the minutia—borderline OCD. All that remains is to work on the cover, publishing, and marketing, and then that's that. I'll have a book, published (seriously), and one of the most daunting, stressful, hated, agonizing, rewarding projects in my entire life will be no more.<br />
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What then?<br />
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Well, the marketing will be a continuous process. I'm working with <a href="http://ultrademus.blogspot.com/">Nick</a> on these things, seeing as he has a better grasp on what to do than me. But I've been researching a lot lately and have found some strategies that might help, so we shall see how that goes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZTDS8PGtyDQQvSV2BSQPliVD7SnQF5TrRSvFEkZ1XXybuaq0lJb-S55L-4qB08I94_el530VtNLVn5IYkTqZmM-z65mnIcSr_tkJw3VaFfs7XJCVmDPYWL8Nt6NF3JVC1HeNvXuq6k2oo/s1600/iStock_000018529482Medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZTDS8PGtyDQQvSV2BSQPliVD7SnQF5TrRSvFEkZ1XXybuaq0lJb-S55L-4qB08I94_el530VtNLVn5IYkTqZmM-z65mnIcSr_tkJw3VaFfs7XJCVmDPYWL8Nt6NF3JVC1HeNvXuq6k2oo/s320/iStock_000018529482Medium.jpg" width="320" /></a>Of course, this blog wouldn't be about me if something wasn't wrong with my body. So, without further ado, I present...my tenth joint replacement!<br />
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That's right, I will soon be into the double digits with replaced joints! That's only two away from tying the world record (which is kinda BS, because although the winners had twelve joints replaced, several were knuckles. I mean, seriously?). My right knee has been harrying me for a while now, and so a retaliatory strike is required in the form of a total knee replacement sometime in the next few months. The left knee will probably also need fixing soon, and replaced joints don't last forever, so I'm highly confident the world record will be mine at some point! I probably shouldn't be too pleased to get it, but if I have to deal with this crap anyway, why not get something out of it?<br />
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Before I sign off, I did have a couple quick closing comments.<br />
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<ul>
<li>I am currently cover-less. If anyone knows, or is, somebody who does graphic design and might be interested in designing a cover for a memoir, I would love to hear from you or the person you know to discuss pricing and ideas.</li>
<li>Since this is a self-published book (for now), if you or anyone you know might have connections to people/companies/non-profits who would be interested in a book about the difficulties survivors face in life after cancer, or interested in helping to spotlight the rarely discussed aspect of survivorship, I would be pleased to accept any help in this area. </li>
<li>I believe my book has the potential to help bring this very important issue into the public eye so cancer patients and survivors can receive help not just in preventative care, cancer treatments, and diagnostic tools, but in the battle to pick up the pieces once their cancer is in remission.</li>
</ul>
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And with that, I bid thee farewell, until the next post. (Which hopefully isn't months and months from now. I'm working on that.)</div>
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<br />
Ciao<br />
~AndrewAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-65208468743382709672016-04-13T16:44:00.004-07:002016-04-13T16:44:49.092-07:00In a Sea of Chaos, Find the LighthouseI never would have guessed the title of this post would be so appropriate when it floated up from the depths of my brain to present itself, but we'll get to that later. (For clarification's sake, this was written after the rest of the post.)<br />
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I guess we'll start with the biggest piece of news. I'm almost at the end of the fourth draft of my memoir. Only things left after that is a read through to try to catch spelling and grammar mistakes and selecting sections for eradication to get the work count down further. If it goes according to plan, the fifth draft should be the last one. (For more updates on this and other projects, keep your eyes out for new posts on my writing blog: <a href="http://abundywrites.blogspot.com/">Make a Write Here</a>) I thought I would be more excited, and maybe I will once draft four is done and dusted. But at the moment it's more of an anxiety trigger, probably because next I'll be moving from the thing I know, writing, to the things I dread, marketing and networking (both of which involve interacting with humans...egad!). I've marked out several avenues of approach, but that hasn't taken care of the Titanic in my stomach. I'm hoping that, as with other things that make me apprehensive, once I get to it I'll be fine. Now I just have to convince my brain that will be the case. Good luck, me.<br />
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Maybe that's not the biggest piece of news. Maybe having joint specialists tell me that the increased pain in my knees and ankles over the last couple months isn't going anywhere is bigger. Maybe seeing one of the top <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/avascular-necrosis/basics/definition/con-20025517">AVN</a> (avascular necrosis, which is the bone disease I have that has caused many of my joints to collapse) specialists and having him tell me that there isn't really anything I can do to try to fix my crumbling bones other than replace them is bigger. Those are what dominate my thoughts as of late. That the only real solution is more joint replacements down the line when the pain becomes intolerable. The singular light in this pall of darkness is that the pain is manageable for the time being. But how much longer does that last? A year? Five years? Ten years? Ten months? Five weeks? Tomorrow? It's literally anyone's guess. It'll happen when it happens. I've started doing low-impact exercises to strengthen the joints and my body in the hopes it staves off surgery a bit longer. If not that, then at least the exercises should grant me a bit more muscular strength and support to draw from during the recovery process, which might make recovery progress more quickly. So that's good, right?<br />
<br />
In my last post I talked about pushing harder to be social and how it was getting easier. In this post, we talk about backsliding. I've become increasingly reclusive over the last few weeks, and am only now starting to fight it again. It's another case of sticking to what I'm used to, even if what I'm used to isn't really all that great, like, say, surgery. There's comfort in familiarity, simplicity in what's already been established. It's such a constant theme in my life that I should probably think about shoving it into a book title or write essays about it. "The Siren Song of Familiarity." "Comfort in Stagnation." "Doctored Bundy, or How I Learned to Love Surgery." But moving away from that and back to listing off reasons for craving reclusivity (which sounds a lot less clunky than "reclusiveness," and I love words that whisper like liquid silk into my brain), I know my reluctance to engage in human contact is in part to do with the conditions of my joints, which has been become an increasing stressor lately as pain ratchets up and options diminish. I don't want to talk about it, because then I have to think about it, and when I think about it all it does is remind me of where I am and what sort of future appears imminent. I dunno, maybe I'm just trying to find excuses, reasons to explain and justify my lack of effort.<br />
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I think I just realized why I haven't written a blog in a while: because there doesn't seem to be much to write about other than more bumps in the Unmerry-Go-Round called My Life. Because I'm feeling particularly morbid and exhausted with looking for what's good when all I can find is more dismal news. I really have no idea what to talk about. Do I try to paint a cheery picture over the bleak canvas? Or do I leave it bare, the naked truth for all to see? I want people to see the truth, but I don't want to discourage people and make them pity me. My life isn't miserable, but when I try to look for events worth writing about, I can't seem to find anything positive. It's in those little moments, getting into a pun match with my family, watching funny TV with a friend, inventing a word or phrase that tickles me, listening to music in the car and not caring who watches me sing and play air instruments, reading about space and Pluto, those are the moments with seemingly little importance to life's progress, and yet give life the color and pleasantness that keeps me going when all I want to do is implode and hide. Finding pleasure in the small things is what keeps the crushing weight of the Colossus of Bad News from squashing every bit of life out of me. It's what kept me (relatively) sane in the hospital when all I had to look forward to was toxic sludge and vomiting and oxygen masks. It's a revelation every time I remember this obvious, simple, yet transformative bit of insight.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pluto</td></tr>
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<br />
I started off this post with a title, which I quickly removed because I had no idea why I wrote it. "In a Sea of Chaos, Find the Lighthouse." It just came up, completely without context or reason. Maybe it's a lot more appropriate a title than I gave it credit for initially. It's certainly a hell of a lot more fitting than I could have known when my subconscious floated it up. Freud might have been onto something.<br />
<br />
~AndrewAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-76420979981450064952016-02-29T16:08:00.000-08:002016-02-29T16:08:25.412-08:00The Good, the Bad, and Pluto<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdMdLWsJ24_FQ5g90iYxOlWA_Y8qRhhs3PY3zDtMJ5HBWYLPEKTSYqdflk_XrMASnTZyKQ_DXyYeNlCgXw53iAiPJIf60BX8r_Q0EUexHaKU1JabdmgUBzTSK2GLRWo99MCiSJi-h8EmE/s1600/2%253A29+koala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdMdLWsJ24_FQ5g90iYxOlWA_Y8qRhhs3PY3zDtMJ5HBWYLPEKTSYqdflk_XrMASnTZyKQ_DXyYeNlCgXw53iAiPJIf60BX8r_Q0EUexHaKU1JabdmgUBzTSK2GLRWo99MCiSJi-h8EmE/s320/2%253A29+koala.jpg" width="285" /></a>Over the last few weeks I've been thrust into the battle between my desire to move forward and my trauma trying to hold me back in a familiar place, rather than go out into the world and risk more hurt and difficulty. Even if I want to side with moving forward, it's hard to overstate the power of the trauma-induced fear in paralyzing me. It's one of those ugly truths about the <i>whole</i> experience of cancer, that cancer doesn't end with a pat on the back and an "Atta boy" when you get the beautiful news of remission. It stays with you, sometimes for the rest of your life. Whether it's an amputation or the scars of surgery or needing assistance or waking up screaming or crying when a memory is triggered, the experience tends to stick with you like a needy koala toddler to its mother. The last year has been especially rough, with the paralysis nearly choking the rest of my will to move forward to death. But, with a lot of work and both the desire and the need to push through the anxiety, I'm finally beginning to make headway in a couple areas. I'm hesitant about being overly optimistic, but I'm starting to think this might be the first few steps in the direction I have been wanting to go in for years now, it's just been that life is content to throw a googolplex detours my way.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcuY1q6Jd869ijYJNGEZRbV-CPaZdvxjb-gDYCawX154NBP4EbdbvDhn6197sK7ctdXgT_l7ybr-3d1y1jfNu1WMcFZ3Y_Qiu42aoElz0eUCt9TZrNhFXKZj7OFDy9SWqnl7E9fCKkHXu/s1600/2%253A29+giant+book.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcuY1q6Jd869ijYJNGEZRbV-CPaZdvxjb-gDYCawX154NBP4EbdbvDhn6197sK7ctdXgT_l7ybr-3d1y1jfNu1WMcFZ3Y_Qiu42aoElz0eUCt9TZrNhFXKZj7OFDy9SWqnl7E9fCKkHXu/s320/2%253A29+giant+book.png" width="320" /></a>Perhaps the most important thing, to me at least, has been the work I've been doing on my book. I mentioned before that I was waiting for my editor to get my memoir back to me, and only a few days later, she did. Her report and her notes on the manuscript itself were absolutely astonishing and very touching and meaningful for me in so many different ways. Personally, I believe that her kind words and belief in my story and my ability (the terror of wondering if her notes would come back as a mighty hand to swat down the pathetic insect that laughingly thought it could write kept me from opening her notes right away, but even before the end of the first paragraph I felt relief in a way that I don't think I've felt since...probably 2012, when I was the closest I've ever been to reaching that semi-normal life I've been craving) have been key in lighting a fire under me not just in working on the fourth and newest draft of my book, but also in other areas of my life. Getting a bit of confidence in one area seems to have been contagious, and it might be the first contagious thing I've been happy to catch. There's still a lot of work to be done. I'm a third of the way through her edits (plus edits of my own that I'm making after hearing her general thoughts on the book and what areas to focus on more or reduce) and hoping to finish within the next few weeks. After that, assuming the length is more reasonable than it is now (Currently I'm 20,000 words over the maximum "limit" for a memoir. Although there obviously isn't a real limit, the usual length for one ranges between 60,000 and 120,000 words), it's onto the marketing and networking. I've got a lot of trepidation about that, but the more success I have with the book and in life, the better I think I'll be at tackling these sort of problems. I believe victories in life help to give me confidence, especially when they've been so rare and tainted with bitter irony or followed up with crippling defeat. For now, that's not going to be much on my mind, I choose to focus on getting the edits done first. One thing at a time.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvAcUJZH_aT0Gu_OXQScXdhPO8uyNu4iJbqZnvpw4LGm_6JulPLGApWCOngUuNuB-bB7V1BWGT9CZRc4eAW_-lvdOWMUCMnDHFHNX9zpSwhHpuMK9TO7dmF1966yBiklBRe7mHDeBYYY3/s1600/nh-Figure1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvAcUJZH_aT0Gu_OXQScXdhPO8uyNu4iJbqZnvpw4LGm_6JulPLGApWCOngUuNuB-bB7V1BWGT9CZRc4eAW_-lvdOWMUCMnDHFHNX9zpSwhHpuMK9TO7dmF1966yBiklBRe7mHDeBYYY3/s320/nh-Figure1.jpg" width="320" /></a>The other big thing I've been working on and have begun to find some success in is being more social. When I get overwhelmed I tend to shut down and shut away to decrease the amount of stimulation and unknown variables that my brain says will only make things worse. Even if I don't want to, the anxiety of having to face other living entities becomes a daunting challenge that my mind refuses to attempt. I've been wrestling with the comforts of reclusiveness for the last few months. It's comfortable for me, in much the same way I actually preferred being in the hospital after my ordeals with Graft vs. Host and the side effects of the bone marrow transplant. I hated the hospital, much as I hated reclusiveness, but there was a kind of serenity and comfort in them, they were predictable, and so there wasn't anything to be worried about. No real surprises, just maintaining a basic existence was about all I wanted to deal with. Simple things, things I could enjoy or that would pull me from reality and plop me into my head where the world couldn't get to me, that's what I wanted, even as I protested against it. It's been hard to drag my unwilling brain back into some sort of social mode, but I'm doing my best to force myself to contact people and hang out with them. I know that once I am spending time with friends, I enjoy myself tremendously, but in the days and hours and minutes leading up to that encounter, I feel the panic and the desire to call it off get stronger and stronger. Grappling with that is exhausting, but it's worth it when I finally get to see friends and I can forget about it for a time. The more I socialize, the less my brain protests, so it's been getting a bit easier lately, but I'm still wary and making sure I stay on top of the reclusive me so it can't surprise me and shut me back away again. I really do want to be part of the world, especially since the world has space and gravitational waves and Pluto.<br />
<br />
Hope your year has started of well so far,<br />
Ciao<br />
<br />
PS: I'm starting a new writing blog, <a href="http://abundywrites.blogspot.com/">Make a Write Here</a> (I know, I know, deal with it. I'll feature pieces and excerpts from various stories and non-fiction, discussions regarding aspects of writing, and updates on current writing projects. It's online at the moment, but I have yet to post any content besides the first generic "Hi, this is my blog" post. It's also not full formatted, but I'll probably get around to it before the universe ends (maybe).<br />
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Guess not...</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-37695026819854862322016-01-15T16:44:00.002-08:002016-01-15T16:44:53.052-08:00End of AbsentiaHello all,<br />
<br />
I guess I'm back. I mean, I <i>am</i> back, but the question of whether I shall <i>remain</i> back has yet to be answered. I suppose we'll all find out together.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zCBd4v0sXC-mGxhLZHW5spkmiDYV6IL6dWujszX9aZpzIbQJDkJxopfkhJKtnq1eIzL5nx2bqojIaLDM-8azKuBc2pnRSGogss2Yo6lQyB42ow-0KlAenDTd8ty3Diq76xsPoqBC8-rF/s1600/IMG_4786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zCBd4v0sXC-mGxhLZHW5spkmiDYV6IL6dWujszX9aZpzIbQJDkJxopfkhJKtnq1eIzL5nx2bqojIaLDM-8azKuBc2pnRSGogss2Yo6lQyB42ow-0KlAenDTd8ty3Diq76xsPoqBC8-rF/s320/IMG_4786.jpg" width="240" /></a>The good news is that the surgery discussed in the <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2015/10/when-surgery-is-good-news.html">previous post</a> (I will end up getting to the Coming Soon section, but not now) went very well. It turns out that, in addition to the bone spurs, one of the screws from my ankle allograft in 2010 was loose, so that was taken out during surgery as well (I told him that another doctor said it might be loose, "I've known for years that I've had screws loose, but this is the first I've heard about the one in my ankle"). That was early November. It's been healing up very well, the pain is down and the flare ups of pain have become much less frequent. I'd call that a success. It has been good enough that I did a lot of walking on our family vacation to Oahu this last week (by the way, we went to Oahu), although my ankles weren't particularly pleased and I did spend some time in a wheelchair because of how painful and swollen the ankles were getting (see right: wearing a tight ankle brace does not really mesh well with very swollen ankles/legs). I'm planning on sitting and icing my ankles for the next couple days, that way my ankles return to normal as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
After the surgery, I started to feel like I was returning to the mental state that had plagued me at almost the exact same time a year ago. It felt like my mind was beginning to slip again, and fear of pushing myself too hard and taking on too much led me to pull away from the world and try to keep my stress and anxiety levels as low as I could to avoid having another total nervous break. I'm hoping that I'm more stable now, and that this three-month hiatus can be broken without too much worry that I'm overreaching. It really bothers me, I feel like more of an invalid than I ever did with the physical problems, having my definition of "overreaching" be talking to people, writing, and taking a couple classes to finish up community college (which also bothers the intellectual in me, but after two failed attempts at UC schools due to bone collapses, I just don't want to go through the hassle for a third time until I'm in a much better physical, mental, and emotional state). But I've learned over the years that I can't compare myself to anyone else, or, at least, I <i>shouldn't</i> compare myself to anyone else, which is nearly impossible I'd like to add. It's a hard lesson, harder still to live by, but I'm doing my damnedest to follow it and take care of myself to the best of my ability, even if it feels a lot like failing (I just need to ignore that, it's hard, but I'm trying).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inspirational metaphor goes here</td></tr>
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Despite all this, I've been able to take some measure of comfort and hope from <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/p/cancer-and-cure.html">my memoir (Life Has No Title)</a>. A few weeks after my surgery, I decided that I'd spent enough time trying to save money by chopping bits out and sent it off to the editor. Soon, I hope to have it back so I can take a look at the notes and start with the finishing touches to have the writing and editing portion of this project complete. Then I'll be able to turn my focus toward marketing and networking, which is something I'm a bit antsy about, but at least I have faith that the memoir can do a lot of good and it's my hope that knowledge will help get me through potential rough spots that might come up in the final stages of completion. It also helps a great deal that the editor has already somewhat eased the anxiety about how good my book actually is by being kind enough to let me know that she likes the voice and the content and thinks it could be helpful to others. The narrative tone was my biggest worry about the writing aspect of the book, so that's a bit of a load off my mind. I'm really looking forward to reading her notes and starting work again on this project. I've been doing some writing in the interim, although more dabbling than anything else.<br />
<br />
I think that's a good-sized post for now. I'm getting weird vertigo while looking at the screen, so I'm thinking this is a good stoping point. Hope all y'all had a good (insert preferred winter-related holiday here) and will have great 2016s.<br />
<br />
~AndrewAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-54878336710006463692015-10-09T16:02:00.004-07:002015-10-09T16:04:44.958-07:00When Surgery is Good NewsHey readers,<br />
<br />
So we're going to be going with a relatively short post this day. I suppose it's a good thing, not having that much to report and update you on. Mostly it'll be focused on news with my ankle.<br />
<br />
After getting an MRI and some x-rays, I finally managed to get in to see my new ankle specialist. I went through the whole routine of filling out paperwork and running out of room where it says "List all surgeries with approximate dates" and having various nurses and doctors saying "Wow, aren't you a bit young for all this?" and "I'm sorry you had to go through all that." It's funny to see trained medical professionals act with the same stunned uncertainty that I see when "normal" people find out about my medical past and can't figure out how to express their pity and/or sympathy properly. But I did like the doctor, he listened to my opinions (I can't work with doctors that assume I know nothing and won't factor in my suggestions or treat me like an ignorant child), showed me what he saw in the MRIs and x-rays, and freely admitted that this was an extreme case and, rather than go forward assuming he knew best, wanted to get the opinions of some other doctors to see what they thought. I always like that, because I've had more than my fair share of arrogant doctors who think they know best and then turn out to be totally wrong.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bone spurs are visible just to<br />
the left of the screws</td></tr>
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<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGe-ELOcDo0sj4umHP9lgdJkDnkCtaVTa9Gt3B0lj64Q5qnMBqwD_SlIys-ahyphenhyphena3pWk9kYt5V0JEAScMUwRVFYLMsg4uJQ8hPji_shCVeBSeqV8-AQerwtK-XT_UNM_NcYVIiyhQ5VyoH/s1600/Ankle+X-rays+10%253A6-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGe-ELOcDo0sj4umHP9lgdJkDnkCtaVTa9Gt3B0lj64Q5qnMBqwD_SlIys-ahyphenhyphena3pWk9kYt5V0JEAScMUwRVFYLMsg4uJQ8hPji_shCVeBSeqV8-AQerwtK-XT_UNM_NcYVIiyhQ5VyoH/s400/Ankle+X-rays+10%253A6-1.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is some separation of the bones that<br />
is usually associated with older people</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now let's get into the specifics about the ankle. The x-rays and MRIs showed that there are some bone spurs on the inside portion of my left ankle, no real news there. However, he also spotted a stress fracture on the medial malleolus (lower tip of the tibia), which is right above where most of the pain has been located. It might be possible that at least some of the pain comes from this stress fracture. These are all pretty sedate problems for me, things can will either heal on their own or require basic surgery (which I'll discuss shortly) to fix.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuWvxaWxydpvNX4MycnA4AV4EVKFn9VDxF4d-UN1nl3iPZjWrFqFeViB7u5Ygf23yS6bWEqN_eT4XtLnR_5-Mv6o-WL4_TkEEtt0gPT7i2nQ2hqakSs32e_-vQ2L8JVaB5uneMuIZXIXi/s1600/IMG_3839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuWvxaWxydpvNX4MycnA4AV4EVKFn9VDxF4d-UN1nl3iPZjWrFqFeViB7u5Ygf23yS6bWEqN_eT4XtLnR_5-Mv6o-WL4_TkEEtt0gPT7i2nQ2hqakSs32e_-vQ2L8JVaB5uneMuIZXIXi/s320/IMG_3839.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The black areas surrounded by white<br />
are where the AVN is most noticeable<br />
(A dove-shaped area above and a <br />
bridge-shaped area directly below that)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
However, the MRIs showed a much more serious potential problem in the future. Back in 2010 I had ankle allografts on both ankles (basically removing part of my ankle and replacing it with donor bone) that helped with the damaged portions of my bones caused by AVN (a degenerative bone disease I got as a result of my cancer treatment's treatment, my not so little souvenir I picked up when I had to survive the cure). These donor bones were healthy and over the last few years they've looked very good on x-ray, everyone's been impressed by them. But looking at the MRIs of the ankle, the specialist saw that the AVN was now starting to affect the fresh, healthy bone. The AVN is very pronounced in the lower "knob" of the tibia and also in part of the talus (the part that had been replaced five years ago). Although it probably isn't causing my pain now, since AVN usually only hurts when it reaches the surface of the bone, which it hasn't done yet in the aforementioned areas, it will require additional surgery at some point. It could be years or decades from now, or it could be months, it's hard to say. Basically it'll happen when the pain comes back because of the AVN or if the structure collapses like it did back in 2009, which is what prompted the surgery in the first place.<br />
<br />
<br />
Fortunately, the AVN is not an immediate problem, but it is something to keep an eye on. The more immediately problem (bone spurs) are a lot easier to fix. My doctor would prefer to be on the cautious side and err toward a minimalistic approach to healing, which I can totally get behind. The plan is to do arthroscopic surgery, which uses a small camera and instruments to see and clean out the damaged areas of the ankle, and then see if that helps sideline the pain for a little bit. Compared to the huge joint replacement surgeries I'm so familiar with, this is far less intrusive and debilitating. After the surgery, the specialist wants to see me every 6-12 months to get images of my ankle so we can check on its progress and catch any further damage early on, before it has a chance to morph into something major. Until the surgery, I've been given orthotics and a brace to help take some of the weight off of my ankle and alleviate the pain as much as possible. And I'll be back to using my cane to take weight off of my ankle. (The doctor felt bad for me, since I would "stick" (terrible pun) out, but told me I could use it to whack people. I think that's the moment I realized how much I liked this guy. Beating people with canes always makes me think of the man who tried to assassinate Andrew Jackson and the 67-year-old president wailed on the guy with his cane). All in all, it feels like this is something that can be taken care of easily and I'll be able to move past it with relative ease. I don't have a date yet for the surgery, but I'm supposed to get a call from the doctor's surgery scheduler to get that sorted out.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYhi8jTU4MKTR3aVv4x0FHB3xWFhJxtzKGM0VqXKL7zDbRuCLfv1o3kMQ8HT958xMbAYETWQTnv-QK0MGyNfdQ_DS0APnMppdJNAcJipZbpsMezFA5gVN9RrDqYGOP1R9qAj2lLcuCOLG/s1600/140130_HIST_AssassinationJackson.jpg.CROP.original-original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYhi8jTU4MKTR3aVv4x0FHB3xWFhJxtzKGM0VqXKL7zDbRuCLfv1o3kMQ8HT958xMbAYETWQTnv-QK0MGyNfdQ_DS0APnMppdJNAcJipZbpsMezFA5gVN9RrDqYGOP1R9qAj2lLcuCOLG/s320/140130_HIST_AssassinationJackson.jpg.CROP.original-original.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Until then, I'm going to keep chugging along and staying productive.<br />
Ciao<br />
<br />
Coming soon:<br />
Keep an eye out for the next blog post, which will throw some hard truths and harsh spotlights on an issue that underlies everything in my life, and in the lives of millions and millions of other cancer patients and survivors.<br />
<br />
PS: I don't think this was nearly as short as I thought it would be. Sorry for accidentally lying to you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-88120884217557452662015-09-25T16:00:00.000-07:002015-09-25T16:00:04.244-07:00Another Milestone Down, Another Surgery UpG'day errybody!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVH6oylY2PMq5_ZG61KxeMenDWegeUtv2Z-w8QiNbPxJZmb4vNkrPb6C99bJnCQR_jS0rdQR7kfHY4bykx_v79v4InoCHXwv5KQygoeaQzbIAxTCkytBqOkbT0POfOxRuRlgurmC4EVLn/s1600/boring_on_white_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVH6oylY2PMq5_ZG61KxeMenDWegeUtv2Z-w8QiNbPxJZmb4vNkrPb6C99bJnCQR_jS0rdQR7kfHY4bykx_v79v4InoCHXwv5KQygoeaQzbIAxTCkytBqOkbT0POfOxRuRlgurmC4EVLn/s200/boring_on_white_1024x1024.jpg" width="148" /></a>It has been an extremely hectic month, to say the least. I've been busy trying to sort out all the stuff from the last post and then some! Mostly I've been focused on the memoir and my physical health, although I have also started back up school. I've been able to get enough strength around my knee at physical therapy to avoid knee replacement surgery (yay). However, as I mentioned before, I do have a couple bone spurs in my ankles (boo). I'm going to have an appointment with an ankle specialist (my old one moved to Seattle shortly after I had the double ankle allograft) in a couple weeks to see what the best option is, but I'll likely have surgery to get the bone spurs removed. It's not as bad as it sounds actually. It's relatively minor, so much so that I could probably just do myself by this point. I might as well have the surgeon cut me open, point me in the right direction, and I'll chip the spurs away myself. Otherwise, my health has been rather quiet and uneventful. And you know what? I'll take uneventful with little change, it sure as hell beats the alternative that seems so dreadfully <br />
common with me.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTA5XmzJ-O_gQ410BOOfF91fJ4rarAR0ICjqp9ndf_fAoTMYCNQEXZT-f0MSkM_V50yLdmS9G4TBgjf3xvKQ-TxibB1HPZaB6X494L-KzBvRZDCzeFJlO8ZwAQ0DD609x66jc1-ftNPpRL/s1600/Survival-Strategy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTA5XmzJ-O_gQ410BOOfF91fJ4rarAR0ICjqp9ndf_fAoTMYCNQEXZT-f0MSkM_V50yLdmS9G4TBgjf3xvKQ-TxibB1HPZaB6X494L-KzBvRZDCzeFJlO8ZwAQ0DD609x66jc1-ftNPpRL/s200/Survival-Strategy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is kinda how surviving feels</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Onto writing news. I have finished the third draft of my memoir (yay)! It's kind of intimidating that I'm getting so close to having my book published. However, I have been getting some very positive feedback from a couple college professors that read the manuscript. I've been reassured that my book <i>is </i>an important part of helping to get awareness up about the many issues that face a cancer survivor. Both acute and chronic, from mental to physical to emotional, there are a great many pitfalls that await those freshly gifted with remission when there doesn't need to be. Lack of information and attention to what can be the most difficult part about cancer has constantly made my attempts to rebuild my life extremely difficult. So I am hoping that with this book and speaking events and the like I can do my part to make survivorship (the part of a cancer patient's tribulation that comes after the cancer is beaten back) just a little bit easier for the millions and millions of survivors and patients out there (which is the reason for starting the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/survivingthecure">Surviving the Cure Facebook page</a> that I'm hoping will gather momentum and help a bit with that awareness. If you feel so inclined, please like it and share it with your friends). Being reminded of my goal and told that this book has great potential to achieve it, well, that's a good vaccine against the anxiety and nerves surrounding the publication. At the moment, <a href="http://ultrademus.blogspot.com/">Nick</a> and I are reading each other's books and helping to guide the other in the right direction and polish both our manuscripts up. And slim them down so we can cut down on costs when we send our stuff out to the editor.<br />
<br />
Of course, even with the books finished we still have the networking and marketing aspect to take care of as well. Luckily, one of Nick's friends is a photographer (a very high-caliber one at that) who took some head shots of us for when we start the marketing campaigns. They turned out really well. I might actually use some for a more personal use. If I ever need eHarmony of something, I'll definitely be putting one of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dahiya.us">Keshav's pictures</a> up there.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3StusOJ9pIPIYdIlqvwaqIvF2pvsb6K7nWJRMAl0c-BTG0ci2gTuqOVbOUQFvhKRzKaKIH_3YM1mF0xQy4Vc7REtzPag0n-shcFGBf4osBJ0d78rWTFxJCuIeQttHG9L8MFLtsi-ZYuME/s1600/IMG_2146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3StusOJ9pIPIYdIlqvwaqIvF2pvsb6K7nWJRMAl0c-BTG0ci2gTuqOVbOUQFvhKRzKaKIH_3YM1mF0xQy4Vc7REtzPag0n-shcFGBf4osBJ0d78rWTFxJCuIeQttHG9L8MFLtsi-ZYuME/s320/IMG_2146.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick and I | Credit: Keshav Dahiya</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In addition to all of that, I've been working on a couple short stories. Plus a whole bunch of ideas that came rushing out of nowhere in a massive creativity dump over the last few days. Not that I'm complaining, I love creativity dumps. I just wish, you know, that they wouldn't be so distracting and alluring. To me, they're like sirens trying to call me away from the memoir and all the other things that need taking care of. I hear them whispering: "Bundy, Bundy, come write us. Write us good!" To which I usually reply: "You mean 'well'! It's 'well', not 'good'!" Then people ask if I'm okay and give me that look reserved for strangers that you can't quite be sure aren't totally insane. I mean maybe I am, but that's more fun than being normal in my mind. Normalcy is uber overrated.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej8Qj9_X4fCaZuyY8juEHeQFOBzbJ0Ja21LQy2_nqc0O34XL8r4jFhgr0CXhtBcj_-oWPv1msqVYntYNgmV9TtDfgiFajThl_IJV9C9QQt4R17O68EVIqthnHObUgd4OtkDwembKHomY7/s1600/aconcagua1b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhej8Qj9_X4fCaZuyY8juEHeQFOBzbJ0Ja21LQy2_nqc0O34XL8r4jFhgr0CXhtBcj_-oWPv1msqVYntYNgmV9TtDfgiFajThl_IJV9C9QQt4R17O68EVIqthnHObUgd4OtkDwembKHomY7/s200/aconcagua1b.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
So those short stories. One of them I'm planning to shop around to see if any magazines or something will want to publish it. It's a short mostly non-fiction piece about my dad's summiting of Mount Aconcagua in the Andes (highest peak outside the Himalayas). The other is a more standard short story for me, which I recently posted on my author page on Facebook. I'll start you out with the beginning at the end of this post and if you want to read on, go ahead and check out the rest of it on the Facebook page. While you're there, feel free to like it! I'll be posting excerpts from my memoir and other pieces of writing there from time to time.<br />
<br />
Many thanks to you all, have a splendid day/night/dawn/dusk/what-have-you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZDhCqlNxq-Ipix88fVTEMKlccrtNwFeK8de1cUoin4qzPZhqShWXWS-5JV7ig7VxF1N_5BxbR18zugjo79Dyb-zf69g1VDdZWRs_fvp-whltQUbOuZqKt6k0-r6jablh1MqHmp9t2__n/s1600/catfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZDhCqlNxq-Ipix88fVTEMKlccrtNwFeK8de1cUoin4qzPZhqShWXWS-5JV7ig7VxF1N_5BxbR18zugjo79Dyb-zf69g1VDdZWRs_fvp-whltQUbOuZqKt6k0-r6jablh1MqHmp9t2__n/s320/catfish.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Catfishing</u></span></b></div>
<br />
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Sitting outside, Myles realized
that his plan to flush out the potential catfish was severely flawed. Sure, it
probably wasn’t an old guy, but just because some girl sounded hot didn’t
necessarily mean she was. “Dammit! Please, God, let her be hot. I’d give
anything for her to be the hot, funny, wonderful girl she claims to be.” Maybe
it was God, or maybe it was his subconscious, a little cocaine-snorting Freud
sitting next to an empty couch who spoke, but the answer came to him either
way: Only one way to find out.</div>
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The house was small, boring,
unassuming. It didn’t fit into his picture of where such a stunning and special
person like her would live. Though he couldn’t exactly figure out what that
picture was, he at least knew this wasn’t it. Myles heard his friend Zachary’s
voice whispering “Catfish” in the back of his mind. Try as he might to shoo it
away, he could not quite rid himself of that treasonous doubt. With a sigh and
a stomach full of writhing creatures, Myles stepped out of the car and closed
the door, absently locking his car as he frowned at the driveway. It looked no
different from any other driveway in America. What was he expecting? A driveway
made of red carpet? “Go Myles,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t.
Instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the possibility that
Zachary was right, that he’d been duped. But he’d seen her picture, heard her voice,
how could she be anyone but who she claimed to be?</div>
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<br /></div>
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To see if Myles gets the girl or if Zachary is right and he gets the hook, read on at: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/andrewbundybooks">https://www.facebook.com/andrewbundybooks</a><br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-70519743940616300462015-08-14T14:32:00.000-07:002015-08-14T14:32:23.781-07:00Gathering MomentumHello faithful readers!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQZ5perqyvUXlac9AwzokZLfyEB1GQq3eICc72kJXUYm2Ip1Kv4Do4fn0ZL3-1pOwyNBsgzttNf2r2dnpKvLhsKpHammWDo1TSV21pMf5hPOGsKghSGKPNQaZg2RlHa12iV3RCrBvQ9mz/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQZ5perqyvUXlac9AwzokZLfyEB1GQq3eICc72kJXUYm2Ip1Kv4Do4fn0ZL3-1pOwyNBsgzttNf2r2dnpKvLhsKpHammWDo1TSV21pMf5hPOGsKghSGKPNQaZg2RlHa12iV3RCrBvQ9mz/s200/images.jpeg" width="154" /></a>I am happy to say that it has been an incredibly busy few weeks, and not in a bad way (mostly)! I've made a lot of progress along many different fronts and am trying to keep that momentum going and going and going. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I KNOW I can! Shall we begin?<br />
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First and foremost, I am beyond ecstatic to announce the end of the second draft of my memoir! I managed to take out a rather large chunk of useless tangents (put in the rough draft mostly to take the edge off the agonizing task of remembering the things I spent years trying to forget) and am that much closer to being finished with this whole project. In the near future, I'll be able to submit the work to an editor that <a href="http://ultrademus.blogspot.com/">Nick</a> and I have settled on and from that point on I think it'll be a bit more work and then we can safely put this whole memoir thing behind us. Quite frankly, as important as I think my book is (I can't afford modesty at this point), the allure of fiction is always the siren song trying to pull me off track. I'll admit, I have done some work on some side projects, but the goal is to publish the memoir before I ramp up my efforts for the next major project (which I've already decided on and I giddy as all get out to plow straight into). I do find the fiction to be a nice release, especially from the more challenging parts of the memoir, but it's a constant battle to keep myself from sliding so easily back into my preferred genre. On a side note: I wrote a short story that I really liked. It's nice, I haven't finished a short story in quite some time, so you can imagine how satisfying that is to work on something so fun and familiar.<br />
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To learn more about the memoirs Nick and I are working on, you can read the article in the Poway magazine <i>92064</i> called <a href="http://92064magazine.com/2015/08/07/memoirs-recount-challenges-faced-by-two-poway-high-school-graduates/">Memoirs Recount Challenges Faced by Two Poway High School Graduates</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9oLNm8lQtKxaGcXFyGDIQFO-vQ9kQdoCG5MxKuKV1nXma2kZ9ew-mhguI36eopvUb0jyU4qGnctEPIpRcFgmSj76WIKI086ndeu7VMHVAoNcOQIFNmfwZXyYPBkYCk-eq9TiZDdb1CyP/s1600/IMG_3358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9oLNm8lQtKxaGcXFyGDIQFO-vQ9kQdoCG5MxKuKV1nXma2kZ9ew-mhguI36eopvUb0jyU4qGnctEPIpRcFgmSj76WIKI086ndeu7VMHVAoNcOQIFNmfwZXyYPBkYCk-eq9TiZDdb1CyP/s320/IMG_3358.jpg" width="320" /></a>The other major mark of progress is my work at physical therapy. As mentioned in my last post, I've been strengthening the muscles in my legs to compensate for what could be further degeneration in the bones or some other issue that has yet to be fully diagnosed. I know that the ankle pain in my left ankle is caused by a bone spur (see right) that I'll probably have to do something about soon. But over the last few months the pain has been getting progressively worse. However, because of all the work at PT, I've been able to slow down a lot of the pain's progression and even prevent it from getting worse at all in some instances. I'm definitely a lot stronger than I have been in years, with the full compliment of joints replaced and feeling somewhat like I did before this journey of mine began more than eight years ago. It's amazing to me how long it's been. I can no longer remember what it's like to be a healthy person, what having hair is like, dealing with the issues that once seemed all-consuming in high school and now seem infinitely petty after the long Odyssey.<br />
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I've also been doing my best to prevent myself from pulling away again. Although I have not updated the blog in a while, I've been on other social media outlets for short bursts of time and have been trying to get out to see friends and get out of the house on occasion. I finally put up the Facebook page as my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/andrewbundybooks">"official" author page</a> (whatever it's called), which I will post a brand new short story (see above) if I manage to get 50 likes by the end of August. I will also be pulling my collection of short stories <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Fringes-Awareness-Andrew-Bundy/dp/1490548963">On The Fringes of Awareness</a></i> by the end of the year as I switch from Amazon to another company that will allow me more control over my works.<br />
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In addition, and more importantly, I've started the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Surviving-the-Cure/1446844618976846?ref=hl">Surviving the Cure</a> page on Facebook as well. Its goal is something I've talked about semi-regularly on this blog, and indirectly focused on for the entirety of it, to spotlight post-cancer issues that cancer survivors must face after they are in remission and trying to rebuild their lives (the life lived after diagnosis and beyond is called survivorship). Anybody who has read at least a couple posts on here knows that surviving cancer is way more than just surviving cancer. It's trying to put your life back together after so many trials and tribulations and finding that the journey is only just beginning. It varies from person to person, and undoubtedly I'm an extreme case, but perhaps that's why I'm able to speak from experience about the multitude of challenges that survivors have to face after they escape cancer's grasp. If you go to the Facebook page for <u>Surviving the Cure</u>, there's a detailed mission statement and, similar to the author page, if 50 people like the page, I'll be putting an excerpt from my memoir up as a thank you for helping get the word out there about the difficulties involved with surviving and rebuilding a life left in tatters from the scorched Earth war against cancer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ZKbuCaO5jg1vu84tYfn5VENJKifHRMGEAJ6wDM_Stno43SvcW4CY8GSFXkaM09GaPA0jXtSwn5nOwZ_pnrxW0V5wCapv0L1HwbmuTyujZIh2mJV6_O9Z9MW3bZIaRu7thWdpu8KxSFnK/s1600/IMG_3415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ZKbuCaO5jg1vu84tYfn5VENJKifHRMGEAJ6wDM_Stno43SvcW4CY8GSFXkaM09GaPA0jXtSwn5nOwZ_pnrxW0V5wCapv0L1HwbmuTyujZIh2mJV6_O9Z9MW3bZIaRu7thWdpu8KxSFnK/s320/IMG_3415.JPG" width="320" /></a>What I'm trying to do is get the message out there, so if you would be so inclined to share not only the Facebook page, but also this blog, with your friends and the like, it would be a good first step toward helping spread awareness about how difficult life can be when you're cancer-free. (Damn that's catchy, if somewhat dark). It's a subject rarely discussed, even with oncologists treating you for your cancer, and as a result there is substantially less support in place for survivors. Many are forced to tread water and figure out how to cope and fix the side effects from the treatments, on top of the after-effects of the cancer itself, used to save their life. Whether those side effects be physical, mental, or emotional, there needs to be a better system of support in place to ease survivors' transition back into society and a semi-normal life. My hope is that the farther this message gets spread and the more people learn about just how painful and difficult picking up the pieces can be, in some instances its even harder than the cancer itself, we can be that ray of knowledge that pierces the dark clouds of ignorance about one of the hardest challenges any survivor will ever have to face. (I'll admit, I just added that last part to justify putting the picture in. I needed to compensate for the lack of cute little animals that I normally put in because that's what people like to see. Here, tell you what...<br />
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You're welcome)<br />
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Thank you in advance for sharing,<br />
AndrewAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-39074886564588126222015-06-26T16:30:00.000-07:002015-06-26T16:30:08.002-07:00"That Cancer Guy"I've had an interesting week. (Side note: the white space that used to be here was bothering my editorial side, so I added this note to compensate for that and make me feel a little better.)<br />
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There's been lots of forward progress in terms of both Nick and I's book. Nick and mine? Mine and Nick's? My and Nick's? None of those sound right when I say them out loud. Weird. It's probably a poor way to structure the sentence, but I'm too lazy to do that. Because, you know, writing all this extra stuff out here is less work than fixing a few words. Oh well. Nick and I have met three times this week. On Monday we got together, discussed some aspects of Nick's memoir, then went to a meeting of the <a href="http://sdwritersguild.org/">San Diego Writers/Editors Guild</a>. Great idea on Nick's part, just utter genius. We'll get to that thought. On Wednesday we went over the non-writing aspects of our book: how much of our budget we want to spend on x, y, z, what makes sense to focus on first, what we need to look for in an editor, in a graphic artist, etc. Today we're meeting up to work on the actual writing and editing process. I think with everything that's happened this week, both Nick and I feel like we're on solid ground a little more. We have a very tangible sense of forward progress and confidence that this is an achievable goal (whereas prior to this both of us were in a bit of a quagmire, albeit for different reasons), and are more and more excited about getting our books published in the near-ish future.<br />
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The San Diego Writers/Editors Guild was such a fun experience for both of us. Although almost everyone in the room was at least twice our age, neither of us felt acutely uncomfortable. In fact, it was refreshing to be around them, because so many of them were in fact writers and had been published. The speaker for the night was, appropriately, a woman who talked about how to write the memoir of your life (although it was more geared toward an older crowd, us pups gleaned some useful information from the lecture/talk/thingy-ma-jig. We managed to make several new contacts, passing out business cards and collecting them from some of the people in the meeting. It gave us a good taste of what we might expect from similar events and are almost certainly going to try to make the next meeting at the end of July. Who knows, maybe we'll even join! Baby steps though, baby steps.<br />
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There were several amusing anecdotes gained throughout the night, but three of them really stuck out to me. Here we go:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszduNc99kuwe1aulu-GgIutMUftuX-RWafTqF-cRCAXJ99tXHOK8X7yIDb-3ZXTNKj3KDpvzozqmE35ohXyYZr2eUF9dyPRoJcLLbWSW212H38LODcYYkRrYBT3qkyB5NQ2ZEhz0mFUeZ/s1600/137915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszduNc99kuwe1aulu-GgIutMUftuX-RWafTqF-cRCAXJ99tXHOK8X7yIDb-3ZXTNKj3KDpvzozqmE35ohXyYZr2eUF9dyPRoJcLLbWSW212H38LODcYYkRrYBT3qkyB5NQ2ZEhz0mFUeZ/s320/137915.jpg" width="320" /></a>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">That's NORMAL?!</u>: Near the beginning of the talk, a woman sitting directly in front of us raised a hand as the speaker spoke about drafts and forming a story. "Excuse me," she said politely. "Before I even write a single word, I spin the idea around several different times in my head and make sure to look at it from several angles until it's perfect. Then I'll do about 25 drafts." Nick and I exchanged a glance, this lady was intense. The speaker nodded and told the woman that having so many drafts was, and I quote "completely normal." The glance we shared mutated into a mask of horror. If we did 25 drafts of our book, we'd both die of old age before we got even halfway through that many drafts at the rate we're doing it. I whispered to Nick that I think we should probably not do 25 drafts. He agreed quite readily.</li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">I Just Sit Down and Write</u>: Toward the end of the talk, an older gentleman by the name of Bill raised his hand. The speaker was discussing how to get around writer's blocks and that it sometimes requires lots of planning and outlining first when Bill interjected. "I don't bother with all that. I just sit down and write for six hours a day, seven days a week. Then I publish it." I wanted to applaud the man, because I've got little use for outlines, they never really fit that well with how the story ends up. I almost stood up and raised my fist with a cry of "Right on!", but quickly realized that maybe a meeting full of 60-90 year-old white people from San Diego was not the ideal place to pull a move associated with the Black Panthers. Perhaps one of the better uses of my barely touched mental filter I've had in my whole life.</li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">That Cancer Guy</u>: When the meeting began, Nick and I introduced ourselves and told the group about ourselves. Nick talked about his ultrarunning, and I talked about my experiences writing and a very brief synopsis of my condition (I almost went ahead and bet that I had more joint replacements than the whole room put together, but I suspect I wouldn't have won that bet, though it would certainly be close. I've had nine, so if a third of the room had one joint replaced, I wouldn't have won. But if I'd gone head-to-head against any one of them, I think I'd have an easy shot at winning). After the meeting, when Nick and I went around talking to people and introducing ourselves, I met a man selling a book he'd put together featuring the letters of a private in the Union Army during the Civil War. He signed my book and a couple other men came over and we started chatting. One of them brought up running and asked me how I could do such crazy races. I corrected him and directed his question to Nick. The guy said he thought I was the "running guy" because I had sneakers on and Nick was wearing these pseudo-cowboy boots. I told him that Nick was the running guy, not me. "Which guy are you?" the man who'd signed his book asked. Explaining I'd been the one with cancer, he frowned for a moment and then realization dawned on him. "Oh you're that cancer guy!" I imagined myself as a door to door salesman asking if people wanted to buy cancer (it was as weird in my head as I'm sure it is in yours). As we were leaving, Nick said to me: "You know that's probably what everyone will know you for if our books get big, right?" Another image popped into my head, people on the street passing by and recognizing me with a quick "Oh hey! You're that cancer guy!" I suppose that's me, I'm just that kinda (cancer) guy.</li>
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Yes, I'm <i style="font-weight: bold;"><u>that</u> </i>cancer guy.</div>
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We'll do some brief updates and then I'll let you get on with your day (or whatever you'll be doing after you read this far):</div>
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<li>For the last two months I'd been working on what was originally a short story. It ended up being three times longer than the longest short story I've ever written (<i>Exhibit</i>, which is one of the short stories in my <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Fringes-Awareness-Andrew-Bundy/dp/1490548963">book of short stories</a>). The exact same thing happened when I was writing the second draft of <i>Road to Refuge</i>. It expanded more than TEN TIMES in length, very odd. So I guess this new story, whose title still eludes me because none of the ones I come up with really click with me, is actually a novella. Rough draft done, very pleased with it. This is the first major project I've finished (sort of) since I wrote the rough draft of my memoir. Yay.</li>
<li>I was attacked by some sort of demonic superbug. I had several itchy bites on my lower legs on Monday, and by Tuesday morning they'd turned into massive sores almost ten times bigger (sounds familiar)! They're finally starting to get better now, but I swear I briefly thought I had leprosy.</li>
<li>I survived the diagnosversary (<a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2015/06/rollercoaster-featuring-claire.html">see previous post</a>). I hated it, definitely not one of the good years. But I did make it through, so that has to count for something.</li>
<li>I'm back in physical therapy to try to strengthen my legs and specifically my knees so I can attempt to avoid having surgery in September. Fingers, toes, eyes, arms, and legs crossed.</li>
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That should do it for today. Have a good weekend everybody! Even if you're reading this on Monday, have a good weekend, whichever weekend is coming up soonest for you. There, that should take care of anybody reading this in the future. You're welcome.</div>
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Ciao now brown cow</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08332477222309542337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5342715896544737564.post-14006199833074584682015-06-05T17:00:00.000-07:002015-06-05T17:00:00.328-07:00Rollercoaster (Featuring Claire)If you want to look at it from a glass half full perspective, then this recent reclusiveness was a lot shorter than the last one. A month and a half versus five months? That's better. If you want to look at it from a glass half empty perspective...then keep it to yourself. Or myself, since I'm the one struggling NOT to look at the glass as half empty.<br />
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Speaking of struggling...<br />
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These last few weeks have been extremely difficult for me. At times I've felt like I was on the verge of losing control like I had in January, although I am happy to report that this week has been substantially better than the last two or three. I'd actually started writing this post over a week ago and the saved draft I had was wildly different from what I'm feeling now. I think it really sums up just how much of a roller coaster this year has been for me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiIfsekO7rmoJDicJ8TdYJMesaKKQ8G5tdX2MOwPZh5M2P1TTLvcW9CvVqLuvqLdDYkTfpxsz38C_JwZ6niKo_dzpne8C-olSK5f1unnDjj8fuwUyXWFuAvVsDrmRLH72938nEJ37q4XT/s1600/IMG_3142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiIfsekO7rmoJDicJ8TdYJMesaKKQ8G5tdX2MOwPZh5M2P1TTLvcW9CvVqLuvqLdDYkTfpxsz38C_JwZ6niKo_dzpne8C-olSK5f1unnDjj8fuwUyXWFuAvVsDrmRLH72938nEJ37q4XT/s320/IMG_3142.JPG" width="320" /></a>There are two big events that I can cite for my increased anxiety and reclusivity (I need to get this word in the dictionary, I don't care what anyone else thinks). Firstly, I've run into another major hurdle with my health: knees. For those who don't know, I've actually replaced parts of my knees before, back in 2012 (right) and 2013 (left). When most people think of joint replacement, they think of the total joint replacements that involve fitting an artificial device where the puny organic joint used to be. But for me, the doctor and I decided that we would approach it from a different route: allograft. Essentially an allograft can be explained as a bone replacement. It appears to have a better lifespan than the artificial joints and, being younger than most recipients of new joints, it made more sense to do an allograft so I would not need to undergo surgery again for a longer period than I would have if I'd scored myself a total knee replacement. However, the allograft didn't replace the whole joint, just the most damaged parts (although the doctor did say that the allografts were looking really good, the best part of the knee actually). There is still a large amount of AVN (degeneration and dead bone) in my knees, and over the last few months I've noticed an uptick in the amount of pain experienced in both joints. I saw the doctor about a month ago and he couldn't exactly pin down what was wrong, but he basically said that there wouldn't be any major fix for the pain except to just scrap the whole knee and put in a shiny new artificial one. Needless to say, I was extremely displeased with this news. I'd just finished up getting both my shoulders replaced (both total joint replacements) and thought I was in the clear for at least another 5-10 years (when the artificial joints put in 5 years ago might need to be replaced again). Several months of no physical problems left me cautiously optimistic, because I'd pretty much replaced everything I could replace, but I can't remember anytime in the last 8 years when there hadn't been some major complication at least one or two times a year, so I felt overdue for something. So when the doctor said "Probably have to replace the whole thing," I was both shocked and unsurprised.<br />
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I took a couple weeks to decide whether I wanted to replace them or not, after all, the pain isn't debilitating yet. But what really drove me to say yes was the fact that he wouldn't have any surgery openings until the end of September. I didn't trust Murphy to play nice (I suspect my life is guided by Murphy's Law, as discussed in the blog post <u><a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2014/04/a-murphaic-victory.html">A Murphaic Victory</a></u>). Rather than wait until the pain became debilitating and unbearable (assuming it ever did), I didn't want to wait until the pain got that bad to schedule the surgery and then be forced to wait several months in agony while I waited to get fixed. By scheduling it now, I have a safeguard in place in case they DO get worse, and if they don't I can always cancel. It all sounds solid, but for some reason that no matter how hard I try to explain, nobody really seems to be able to fully grasp (which is understandable, seeing how my situation borders on being unique) why making that call and scheduling the surgery was so difficult and painful for me. It feels like giving up. And at a time where I'm just starting to come back into the world and maybe even look forward to what the future has in store for me, it all comes (potentially) crashing back down to Earth and the same cycle of replacements and surgeries and setbacks all rushes back into place. Stuck. Scheduling the surgery makes me stuck. I won't pretend very many people will understand why the two-minute phone call undid two months of exhausting mental work at Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), but I'll leave it out there in case someone does manage to figure it out.<br />
Summary (in case none of the above makes sense): My knees, which had already been partially replaced, are now beginning to hurt again. The doctor told me the only real solution would be to completely replace them, so I scheduled a surgery for the end of September as a safeguard for if the pain gets worse. It's stressed me out a lot.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The proof is somewhere in there</td></tr>
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Now that the small essay you may or may not have just finished reading is over, I can move onto the second big reason for my increased anxiety and depression: <a href="http://survivingthecure.blogspot.com/2014/06/chaotic-preparation.html">diagnosversary</a>. Sunday marks the eighth year of my leukemia diagnosis. Some years it hasn't been too bad, others it's been the worst day of the year. With my mental state the way it is, inherently unstable and only just starting to recover, perhaps it's more than a little underst<br />
andable that I am what the kids call "freaking scared." The anticipation is definitely one of the worst parts (and I'm sure I've mentioned how much waiting is the worst part of anything medical), but coupled with my very recent recovery and scheduling the surgery, I've become exceedingly anxious about the day. Thinking or talking about it makes me anxious, I just caught myself holding my breath for the last minute and noticed all my muscles were tight and my body felt jittery and flighty. Perhaps why I am so nervous is because of how anxious I am NOW, not even on the actual day. The day is a symbol of a life thrown off the rails. It brings up memories that I've so deeply suppressed that I didn't even know they were there. Maybe the reason it's so bad is because I fixate on it and work myself up into a tizzy in the days leading up to it. In my last day of CBT, I discussed my anxiety and somebody pointed out that the day only means something because I make it mean something. Sunday is just Sunday after all. I think I've known that for a while, but trying to tell myself things that could be helpful for me...well let's just say I tend to discount much of the positive self-talk I attempt. It's a lot easier for me to accept something coming from someone else. I'm really going to try my best to remind myself that it is a day just like any other, that the only power it has over me is the power I give it. Easier said than done obviously, but it's certainly a new approach that warrants a try. I could also reframe it in a positive light: I'm alive. Sure, that day may have pushed me into a life nobody would ever ask for, but I made it through and survived it all. I guess the proof will be in the pudding, although why anybody would bury proof in a pudding is utterly beyond me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Old Guard with Mr. Swan</td></tr>
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Quick life tidbit: I went to a send-off for my high school drama teacher Mr. Swan last night. I thought there would be tons of alumni there, but it turned out to also be the awards ceremony for the kids at the high school (most of whom are ten years younger than I am. Nothing makes you feel older than being in a room with kids nearly half your age). When I got there, I only saw children and immediately wondered if I had the wrong night. Nick came in a few minutes later, also being a theater geek from back in the day, and for nearly half an hour we thought we were the oldest people in the room. Luckily, there was a group of our peers from back in the day sitting at a table on the other side of the room. Only a few of us "old people" showed up, but we had a raucous good time reminiscing about drama and looking at old pictures of ourselves in plays. It was an emotional night for just about everyone there, but it was really good to see some of the old thespian buddies and to catch up afterward over a beer and talk about all sorts of things (ranging from Chinese words never to say in America to expensive toys to amusing stories from our lives). There is going to be another get together, this time with a lot more of the Old Guard (which is very literal for me, because in both Shakespeare plays I performed in, I played guards) at a restaurant later this month. I'm pretty excited to see a lot of the people I expected to see at the send-off last night.<br />
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This last week has been better for me. I think a lot of that has to do with me being extremely busy running around San Diego (not literally, I save that for Nick) to doctor appointments and whatsuch. I've also been a lot more social and have been doing my best to talk to and hang out with several friends of the last week or so. I also forced myself into writing more. I've been reluctant and anxious about finishing a long short story that I am enamored with. I didn't know why I was anxious about sitting down to work on it every time I went to write, but last night I figured it out. When I'm done with this story, I have no excuse or distraction to keep me from getting back to editing my memoir, <i>Life Has No Title</i>. Currently, I'm stopped at the very worst time in my life. This section was not only the most difficult to live through, but also the most difficult to write. At a time where I'm worried about memories being triggered by the diagnosversary, perhaps it's not hard to imagine why I would be finding any way (whether conscious or not) to prevent myself from going back to work on the project that literally takes my most painful memories and shoves them in my face for me to reread and edit. But...I know I have to do it. I've got lots of wonderful feedback from my neighbor (the first professional feedback I've ever gotten to this extent, which was nerve-racking in and of itself) so I will be able to go back into the book with a lot better sense of how to edit it. But holy damn am I really not looking forward to this. I need to force myself to do it though because this is extremely important and I need to face my fears. Not just face them, but overcome them. It'll be cathartic. I hope.<br />
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Ciao for now<br />
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PS: By the next post I hope to have some pretty exciting news regarding the memoir. Appendages crossed!<br />
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PPS: Claire says hi<br />
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