My Battle Blog

The Circus: Part Deux

2009-12-15T07:49:00.000-08:00

I just spent the weekend with a group of the most amazing women I have ever met, in the most amazing surroundings. I was chosen, as a breast cancer survivor, to attend a leadership retreat in Tucson, Arizona, at the luxurious Miraval Resort and Spa. I could end my writings here, and you'd probably draw a pretty good mental picture: Lots of estrogen, lots of pampering, lots of crying, and lots of self-discovery. Well, that's about half of it. I don't think I'll ever be able to fully put into words what this weekend meant to me, and that's fine. I will tell you one story of the weekend, because it so beautifully mirrors another story I wrote at the beginning of my journey entitled, The Circus.

The opportunities that Miraval provides to its guests are the cornerstone of its mission: to provide guests with one of kind experiences, while also allowing them to fully relax and be pampered. At the various panels and seminars, we discussed how to be a "Healthy Survivor" and how to heal and grow beyond cancer. With anything, you can only talk about it so much before you just have to go out and DO it. Well little did I know, I was about to take a huge step forward, both literally and metaphorically.

I signed up for "Out on a Limb" because it looked fun, and I knew it would be a cool story to tell my future children. We met our lovely guide, Nancy, in the lobby, and headed into the desert. Nancy led us to two large wooden poles, about 35 feet high, with a single wooden beam resting in between. I sat with the five other ladies, all different shapes, sizes, colors, and backgrounds, as we waited for our guide to start her safety presentation. Instead of going right into the logistics, Nancy asked us to introduce ourselves and explain a little bit of our background, including our fear of heights. There was Mary, a lymphoma survivor in her sixties, Anne, or "Queen Anne", as she jokingly referred to herself, a two time breast cancer survivor, Kelly from Indiana, who was still receiving treatment for Metastatic breast cancer, Dawn, a lovely middle aged woman and a two time survivor of this activity, and Julie, a woman my Mom’s age, who had endured a mastectomy followed by radiation treatment early in the year. We were a motley crew, but having a common bond as strong as we did, we were ready to face the challenge together.

When I went to introduce myself, I told the group that I had become somewhat of an adrenaline junky. It makes me blush a little to think that I actually said that to them, but in my mind, that's the image I wanted to portray. I am NOT an adrenaline junky. What I meant to say was that I used to be scared of EVERYTHING and now I'm only scared of SOME things. Alas, that's what came out of my mouth in the moment. Sigh.

I swear, the people who designed climbing harnesses did so with no mind to women with curves, but I digress. Nancy decided that because Mary was the least likely to go first in any other situation, she would be the first to walk across the beam. Mary got up there and quickly realized that because of a bad knee, she would have to shuffle along sideways. Shaky and terrified, she made her way across with thunderous applause from her supporters below. I was up next. I headed up the ladder with ease and even did a little jump from the first pole onto the balance beam. I waved to my audience (I know, I know) below and slowly began to turn around to face the task at hand. "Holy Shit", I whispered to myself. It was so much higher and so much longer that I was expecting. As I began to lift my hand from the pole, I realized that it felt like someone had crazy glued it to the wooden beam. I tried to remove it again, and as I did so, the world around me started to spin and all I could do was stand there. What seemed like 15 minutes later (I think it was actually about 30 seconds), I removed my hand from the beam and took one tiny step forward. This is it, I thought to myself. I am going to turn around and go right back down that pole... are these people crazy? Instead, I held on tightly to my chest harness, closed my eyes and began to breathe, big, heavy, centered breaths. When my head stopped spinning and my stomach stopped doing somersaults, I took another step forward. I repeated this process until I got to the other end, where I was awarded with thunderous applause. After I took in the beautiful Arizona landscape, fully equipped with mountains and boulders and cacti, I stepped back off the beam and safely landed next to my peers. Some people cried, others just hugged me and took my picture. I felt so warm and safe on the ground, surrounded by people I had only just met, people with whom I had shared a sacred experience, and people who now knew me better than most.

The rest of the group successfully completed the challenge, and we headed back to the resort. We had walked our tight rope safely, with great success, just as I did by completing my cancer treatment. I now had the tools to physically do what I had emotionally done this past year. I thought about the people at home who had helped me across my emotional tight rope and was filled with love and gratitude. Luckily, they didn't have to be up there with me physically, but were always there with me, right by my side. Nancy played the role of Seth, the rock to which I was harnessed, the person who would never, ever let me fall. Anne played the role of my Mom, who cried the second I landed safely. The other women were all the other loves in my life, cheering me on, making me laugh, and hugging me at the end of it. At that moment, I knew that I'd never truly be off the beam, never truly land where I started, but I'm getting ok with that... because look at the view from the top!

My version of a Thanksgiving Prayer...

2009-11-26T10:23:00.000-08:00

For some reason, through my diagnosis, treatment, and eventual recovery, Thanksgiving has been a big milestone for me. I've always known that once Thanksgiving arrived, I'd be done with all of the cancer nonsense and I'd be back into my normal groove. So I thought I'd take a minute and give thanks. Here goes...

I'm thankful for my husband, Seth. He is the man I always thought I'd marry, and the person I hoped to spend the rest of my life with. I'm thankful that he worked so hard every day so that we didn't have to worry about money when I was laid off. I'm thankful that he continued to tell me that I was beautiful, with or without hair.

I'm thankful for my family, especially my Mom, who never said no when I asked her to come and take care of me. I'm also thankful for her chocolate muffins and Avena. I'm thankful for my aunt who came to clean my house on more than one occasion. I'm thankful for my sister, who was brave enough to get a mammogram after my diagnosis.

I'm thankful for my friends. I'm thankful that most of you were brave enough to get past any preconceived notions of "cancer" and just be my friend. I'm thankful for the company during chemotherapy because it made the time fly by and reminded me that I'm still me, no matter what they were pumping into my veins. I'm thankful for Desmin, Marcella, Robyn, Courtney and Joe who were always ready to play cards or watch Birdie for us. I'm thankful for Josh and Jaime who brought us over dinner on many, many occasions.

I'm thankful for my puppy, Birdie, who made me get out of bed every day and knew exactly when it was ok to run around and when I needed her cuddle.

I'm thankful for my hair, my yoga practice, my black leggings, no doctor visits, fresh fruit and vegetables, mascara, pumpkin bread pudding, my taste buds, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Northwestern Hospital, accupuncture and so much more.

Thanks for reading. Happy Thanksgiving!

Ms. Sunshine

2009-10-23T03:36:00.000-07:00

Everything happens for a reason. Look at the sunny side of life. Every day is a new day. Carpe Diem, seize the day. The list of cliches that I am actually living on a day to day basis is endless. So much so that I've actually had to be talked down from tattooing myself on several occasions by my level headed husband. (So maybe I won't want a Chinese symbol on the back of my neck when I'm eighty...sue me!) What's not to be happy about? Everything does happen for a reason, and I can't tell you how grateful I am for this experience. I faced death and sickness without the death part, and I can tell you honestly, no bullshit, I am stronger for it. At least 20 times a day I stop and I take a look at what I'm doing and thank God that I'm doing it. For example, I am so grateful to get back into my yoga practice. Even though I feel like my arms are going to fall off 10 minutes into class, I'm so happy to be there, sweating it out with my fellow yogis. Another example...I love doing my hair! I think the term "doing my hair" is a bit of an exaggeration, but I happily go through the motions of applying pomade to come up with my ever so coiffed fauxhawk. Last night I spent the evening with some girlfriends playing Bunco (get off our backs, we're in a recession) and I was happy to recount any part of my experience, answering questions and reminding them to check their breasts regularly.

I pose the following question: What if I stop feeling like this? What if one day I wake up and I forget to be grateful for my fuzzy slippers or worse, my husband who is peacefully sleeping next to me? What if Chicago drivers get the best of me and I experience the all too familiar feeling of road rage? I have a feeling pessimism and negativity tend to snowball, so I'm so afraid I'll wake up one day and take things for granted. But here's the thing: NO ONE CAN BE THIS UPBEAT FOREVER. I know this is a true statement, especially for Erica Unger, who tends to have a bit of a temper and lacks a little patience from time to time. I don't want to meet her again. I had 29 years of her and I like the new and improved version, even though her jeans are just a little too tight (understatement) and her downward dog looks a little more like a wayward dog. How can I ensure that she stays where she belongs, in bed, safely nuzzled under the covers on that ill-fated day, January 22, 2009?

While sitting here trying to think of a clever way to answer this conundrum, I realize... I honestly don't know. I hope I figure it out... or maybe that's the point. There is no great formula for living life to the fullest... you just have to do it and not worry about the days when you don't. There's not a spreadsheet or a post-it note in the world that's going to prepare me for the future (sorry honey, our monthly budget doesn't count). I just have be here and live it. You are all welcome to join me.

I just finished chemo and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

2009-07-23T16:39:00.000-07:00

It's over... I'm finally done. I made it through 4 months of chemotherapy. I should be elated, ecstatic, and other words beginning with "e", but I'm more scared than ever. When your oncologist looks at you and says, "Ok, you're all done! See you in two months", that should be comforting, right? No more IV's and bruising, no more wearing frozen gloves and slippers for 4 plus hours, and most importantly, no more wicked side effects. Truth be told, the chemo made me feel safe. Not that I could do this forever, because I'm not sure I'd last one more treatment, but I love the fact that I had a team of the best and brightest monitoring my every move. Now, I'm on my own, left to my own devices, hoping that the chemo worked well enough to kill any random cancer cells. Oh, and to top it off, my Doc says to me, ever so nonchalantly, "You'll have to come back for a bone density and fully body scan after your done with radiation, just to make sure your all clear." (She also said that she has every confidence that I'm completely clear... I just wanted to be dramatic.) That's the line that kept me awake last night, tossing and turning until finally, at 4am, I got out the old i-pod and did something I haven't done in months... I meditated. I had relied meditation heavily during the months preceding my treatment, but abandoned it the second I started. I can't really explain why, but I did. Now I have to get in the habit of using my body and my mind to combat my fears and my doubts, instead of a bag full of red liquid and an IV. Come to think of it, I like the trade off.

Chemo Brain

2009-06-25T06:24:00.000-07:00

This is a term very commonly used among us receiving chemotherapy. Basically, all the chemicals being pumped into your body start to effect your brain. This tends to manifest itself with memory loss and brain farts. I thought I'd share an example of the ultimate chemo brain.

As most of you know, I won a karaoke contest back in May at Infamous Idol. To recap, I sang Alanis Morrisette's "You Ought to Know" sans hat or wig, and won a weekend getaway to Saugatuck, Michigan. It was just what Seth and I needed! The weekend was set for the end of June and we were stoked.

Since the house had two bedrooms, our good friends Robyn and Cliff had the weekend free and decided to join us. It was all set. I packed up the car and the dog, picked up Seth from work on Thursday night, and we were on our way to a weekend of warm summer breezes and relaxation.

We got into Saugatuck around 9pm. We got a little turned around looking for the house, but I had my iphone and some verbal directions from the owner. We finally pulled up to the third driveway, parked the car and unloaded our belongings. We used our keys and entered our weekend cottage. We were hungry and tired so we threw down our stuff and dove into our jalapeno pizza (this was a mistake on a few levels.) We started to explore the house, and it looked nice enough to the naked eye. Two bedrooms, one bathroom a deck and a screened in porch. The hosts even left us a few Rolling Rocks, which I promptly cracked open with my pizza. The weekend had begun.

Upon further review, the house looked like it hadn't been lived in for months, and smelled like an old woman. It was really dusty and dirty and there were some dead bugs, which please Birdie to no end. I even found a half dead grass hopper in her mouth. The groceries in the fridge were filled with maggots, which I ignored in fear that I might vomit. Combine those facts with the fact that there was no central air, so I couldn't sleep, and the fact that I am a huge wuss, and you get an unhappy girl. But, we persevered and decided to make the best of it. After all, it was free.

It rained on Friday so we spend most of the day inside, reading magazines on the screened in porch after we washed down all the furniture and put sheets over everything. Robyn and Cliff arrived on Friday, in a torrential downpour, and they headed up to their bedroom, which was really a glorified attic. They didn't tell us this until later, but their sheets were filled with sand and dirt, so they slept on top of the covers the first night and washed the sheets the next day. Ay, yi, yi... I'm glad I have such good friends.

We went to a great dinner on Friday night, had an awesome day shopping on Saturday, followed by another fantastic night. Needless to say, we were ready to get out of that house by Sunday morning, and proceeded to do so before 9am. It was a nice weekend, not really what we expected, but we were still extremely grateful to have such a great opportunity. To be honest, I left needing another vacation.

Monday morning rolls around and I get an email from the owner of the house. She was checking in to see if everything is ok because we didn't make it to Michigan this weekend.

WHAT? EXCUSE ME, BUT WE WERE IN MICHIGAN THIS WEEKEND! I HAVE PICTURES TO PROVE IT!

I calmly called her back and told her that we were, indeed, in Michigan last weekend. Yep, you got it, we stayed at the wrong house. The key worked in the lock, or we thought it did, and we opened the door. Apparently we were squatting the entire weekend. At any minute during our stay, the owners could have come home and called the police. We would have countered by calling the cleaning police, but that wouldn't hold up in court. The house we were supposed to stay in was down the block, and let me tell you, it is gorgeous. The owner said she left some wine and other gifts in the house, and was alarmed when they went untouched. I wanted to say, "Yeah, we were alarmed that your house was such a pit!" but instead, we both had a good laugh, then started our quest to find out where in the hell we stayed, since I left her keys on the table per her request! Luckily, she has a broker friend who got to the bottom of it, and promptly told us that she wouldn't stay in that house if you paid her. Awesome.

It's a great story, one that we won't forgot, but I can't help but be a little creeped out. We stayed in some old lady's bed! I drank a beer! We used their mucinex! Sick! The host of the other house, the beautiful house, invited us back in the fall, and we can't wait to experience Saugatuck, this time, without the bugs and dirt! I blame it all on my chemo brain, not having the right mind set to realize that we were at the wrong house, even after it had given us so many clues. On the bright side, I can officially say that I've been camping!

Ugly Duckling... more like Lucky Duck.

2009-05-31T12:19:00.000-07:00

Ugly Duckling...more like Lucky Duck

Alright, first and foremost, I am not fishing for compliments. I am merely making an observation.

Having no hair, thinning eyebrows, black nails and 15 extra pounds around my middle is not exactly how I want to live the rest of my life, but it has it’s perks. First of all, by not washing my hair, I am saving hours of my life AND the earth's water supply, thus decreasing my carbon footprint. I can get ready (without choosing my outfit, don't get nuts) in 15 minutes. That includes showering and make-up application, and doesn't include shaving, which is a perk I don't need to mention in any greater detail… and these are the days I actually apply make-up! There is the problem of the head/scarf-wrapping, which I am mastering at a slower pace than I'd like, and also the fact that none of my clothes fit. I have some stock maxi-dresses and deliciously comfortable yoga pants that are getting some serious face time with the world, but I do miss my cute clothes. Seth thinks this is a perk because my beauty/prep time has been cut way down.

On a more existential level, I am able to see myself in a whole new light. If you think going to chemo was brave, or getting poked one million times in the tender breast area deserved a medal, try walking out of the house bald. Maybe I'm underestimating my friends and family, but for most of you, this would be quite a feat. Ok, maybe one day, or one trip to the grocery store, but every day for 4-6 months? Unless you can justify it with a sweet film deal with Steven Spielberg, it's not something we are all jumping at the chance to do. That's where I'm lucky. I don't have a choice and it's quite liberating. I'm forced, or trying to force myself, to forget about all the superficial stuff and worry about the tissues underneath my skin. I used to worry about what people thought of the way I looked or how I dressed, but I could care less now. Don't get me wrong, I am constantly asking Seth and my girl friends if they saw me on the street, would they think I was a cancer patient? But the fact that I am not asking if they think I look ugly or fat says a lot about this transformation. I'm forcing myself and others around me to see me for what's underneath, if "we" didn't before.
Also, I can walk down the streets with a new kind of confidence, a sort of I-don't-really-give-a-shit attitude that I was never privy to before. For example, Rogers Park is a neighborhood filled with the best cat-callers in Chicago, ask any woman who has walked down North Clark Street. Done and Done. I don't have to fret about that unless we have some Sinead O'Connor fetishists out there.

I was performing in a play about 6 years ago, long before I had met the love of my life. I had been cast as, well, the pretty stage fluff. Literally, I was a mentally handicapped girl-scout, a pregnant teenager, then something that resembled a a sequined, scantily clad American flag. When I wasn't shaking my rump, I was wearing tight black clothing, a black mask, and moving furniture. But boy, it was fun! One of the female leads, a strikingly beautiful, recently turned lesbian, was counseling me on an upcoming "serious" audition. The part was dark and haunting and I thought it would fulfill me at the time. She simply suggested that I wear no make-up to the audition. She might as well have told me to shave my head and wear a moo-moo. But now, I understand her advice with complete clarity. Show people who you are and what you can do, not what you look like. Now I am, and I'm damn happy (some of the time) to make myself do it.

Ok, I retract the whole "not fishing for compliments" statement. Who was I kidding?? ;)

My body is resilliant

2009-05-29T02:32:00.001-07:00

You never know exactly what your body is capable of until you test it. Just like your mind, you body stays in this safe little bubble, until some lurking predator comes around to investigate. You are faced with physical tests all of your life. As a baby, every organism around you screams "warning, germs approaching coming to infiltrate the small, warm, human body!" It gets worse when you enter kindergarten... then you have actual humans children carrying Lord knows how many diseases, as they pick their nose and wipe it on every available object. Skip ahead a few years (some a few years less than others, no judgment there), and you've got the kissing virus, when we all feared the plague known as mononucleosis. I think I probably self-diagnosed myself with mono five to six times a semester just to get out of the presidential physical fitness test or later, Mr. Kowalski's history class. When I think back to high school, I think of the studying and the pushing myself harder and harder every day, and I was healthy as a horse. My body was bruised and twisted from hours and hours of dance practice, followed by hours and hours of homework, followed by little to no sleep, all to do it again the next day. Then college followed. Forget about it. Combine all of the aforementioned predators, and add alcohol to the mix. Still, my body persevered, dare I say thrived in this environment. Then I moved to Chicago to pursue acting and my oh-so-driven boy scout attitude peaked, with an eight hour work day, 4 hour rehearsal, followed by several hours of "networking" at the bar closest to the theatre. Somewhere between the time that I moved here seven years ago, and now, I slowed down, took up yoga and healthy eating, probably because somewhere deep down my body new this was coming and couldn't possible sustain itself with this behavior.

So now, here I am, half way through my treatment, and I have to say, I am impressed with me, or I should say, my body, my veins, my blood cells, my ability to heal. I have to pump myself with drugs to get from one week to the next, but I'm walking around, taking my dog outside, and planning a trip to target. Don't get me wrong, these first four rounds have been pretty awful. Some days, I feel like I'm trapped in the body of an eighty year old women with the mind of a healthy thirty year old, with now way free. Some days, my digestive track is screaming at me, "You know you shouldn't eat that," while my taste buds are screaming," if you don't eat that, I will give you a mouth full of metal, and I mean it!" Migraines are new. Weight gain is new. Bone pain is new. Fatigue, probably the worst culprit of all, is new. I've had slight bouts of nausea, but nothing to write home about. Nothing a little sleeping pill or ginger tablet won't kill. These are just the physical symptoms of all this nonsense, dare I say, bullshit. The emotional stuff shortly follows, and that's when I feel the most alone. Cuz no matter how many people are around me, helping me, pouring me water, doing my dishes or my laundry, watching my puppy, its still just me going through this, and that just sucks. The good news is that I my body bounces back. After a long 7 or 8 days following treatment, My body is 80% back to normal. I can eat what I want, go on long walks, practice some yoga. (You would think yoga would be a no-brainer, at any stage of this messed up game, but oh, sister, is isn't.) So I just have to look forward to those days for the next 2-3 months and know, this hell I am putting my body through, is for its own good, my own good, getting any stray cancer cell lurking in the shadows. I just have to have to keep reminding myself, your body has been through 29 years of mild trauma, with attempted round-offs and kissing and frat party binge drinking... it can handle a few more months of this... surely.

Me and my Jagged Little Pills

2009-05-08T05:25:00.000-07:00

I have never been a pill popper. I took the occasional Advil for yoga aches and menstrual cramps and rarely ever finished my prescribed antibiotics, and now, I am Doctor Quinn. (Jane Seymour is so smokin' and is that Billy Ray Cyrus?) The week after chemotherapy, they pump me with tons of anti-everything medications so that I don't throw up and my blood counts stay nice and high. I have a love/hate relationship with my friends, the pills, because while they do an AWESOME job with the nausea, they have tons of other side effects that make a girl feel like shit. For example, the high powered anti-nausea medicine I take after chemo gives me migraines and makes me tired. So even though I'm not throwing up, I can't see straight and it hurts to get a glass of water. The injection I give myself 24 hours after chemotherapy causes my bone marrow to produce an excessive amount of white and red blood cells, keeping the swine flu virus at bay, but makes my bones feel like I just ran the iron man marathon. I haven't run the aforementioned marathon, but the Gatorade commercials give me a pretty good idea. Sympathy is not the goal of this post. Honestly, I wanted to give everyone some information on how I'm feeling day to day, and the title was an awesome vehicle for the next part of my story...

I won a karaoke contest on Tuesday! Infamous Commonwealth Theatre held their annual "Infamous Idol" competition on Cinco De Mayo. I was slated to be the new judge Kara Dioguardi (She is so freakin' hilarious on the show. I have been conducting a character study for months, even taking copious notes. Where my dogs at? I've been reeling over the early dismissal of Alison Iraheta. I cannot stand Chris Allen.) Tuesday rolled around and the thought of "performing" was both daunting and stressful. I decided to go anyway and hang out with my friends and hubby, who was a dashing Ryan Seacrest, and...finally eat a burger. I arrived at The Spot, still shocked by my 1st support group meeting, and decided I needed to vent. I signed up to sing "You Oughta Know", by the original queen of teen angst, and after my encore, a wobbly rendition of "Like a Prayer", by Madonna, I won, bald head and all! Seth and I will be spending Father's Day weekend at a lovely cottage in Michigan... doesn't that sounds blissful?

For those of you who have known me since high school, I don't have to tell you the deep rooted meaning that song has in my heart. Alanis TOTALLY understood when my first boyfriend, we'll call him CC, dumped me for an older woman 2 weeks after Prom. (We dated for 2 years which disqualified me for pyscho ex-girlfriend status, by the way.) My therapy at the time was picking up the Jenny's and the Heather's, rolling down the windows of my emerald green dodge spirit, and blasting the hell out of that song while driving through the peaceful streets of CPIN. Therapy is therapy people, and sometimes, it don't cost a thing. (I'm usual the double negative ironically, natch.)

V.A.C.A.T.I.O.N.

2009-05-03T22:03:00.000-07:00

As some of you may have read in previous posts, I have a friend from college that had breast cancer like me, and kicked its ass in similar fashion. I just heard from my West coast source that her hair is growing back and she looks like a "beautiful pixie princess". Thinking about Heather gets me through some hard points in my day, because I know that she did it, beat it, and is now moving on with her life. She is an inspiration to me and the original cancer-slayer, in my mind.

I actually met Heather through my best friend Robyn, and didn't really get to know her until this happened to us both. In fact, Heather is the reason I found the lump in the first place. Remaining true to my obsessive/compulsive instincts, when I found out that Heather had been diagnosed, I became a boob checking machine. I think it was about a week after she was diagnosed that I found my lump. Needless to say, we would have been on the same treatment schedule, but my Doc decided to fall asleep at the wheel... but I digress. It's cool to have someone like Heather in my life, because she knows exactly what I'm going through. So much so, that on the day Seth buzzed my hair, a box of scarves and hats arrived from sunny California, hand-me-downs that meant so much more to me than just some head coverings. But here's the fun part... Heather gave me a piece of advice before I started chemotherapy that I archived, focusing only on the task at hand, and not on the other side of the rainbow. She told me to take a trip when all of this is over. She went to Costa Rica, a destination she had always wanted to visit, and said it was the best thing she did for herself. So here's my dilemma. I really, really want to go on that dream trip... but where do I want to go? Where would you go? This is going to be fun.

Here's what I'm thinking, off the top of my head. Please feel free to weigh in.... my hubby is going to need to weigh in on this one too. Oh and money is no object... not sure how but I'm going to start playing the lottery.

1. I've always wanted to spend some time on a boat. Not like a James Bond yacht, but not a cruise ship with Donald Duck painted on the side. I want to wake up every morning and have breakfast on the side of a ship. I think I would like to do my boat tour in the Keys.
2. Canada. Do not ask me why but I think it would be so amazing to do a tour of all the bitchin' Canadian provinces. I can say bitchin' now because I have a buzz cut, btw.
3. Puerto Rico. Our friends Frasier and Jen (who are the coolest travelers we know) did a city/beach trip in PR and said it rocked. It was also Seth's favorite port during the 2nd city cruise.
4. Maybe we could fly into San Francisco, rent a red convertible and drive until we wanted to stop. I would have to see my home boys/girls in LALA land sometime during our Cally tour.
5. Spain...Madrid. Barcelona. Sangria. Nuf said.

What an awesome way to start a whole new life... and of course to celebrate the accomplishments of your old one. Expedia, dot com, here we come!

Hulking out, but not in the green way...

2009-05-02T17:35:00.001-07:00

If you would have told me 10 years ago that on this fine May evening, I'd be sitting home on a Saturday night, posting pictures of my Mohawk, to fauxhawk, to no-hawk look, I would have told you to put down your crack pipe. But here I sit... posting them. I think I do this so that my friends, family, followers can see what I'm going through, both the pretty and ugly stuff. The pretty stuff being our new puppy and my cute haircuts, natch.
My 2nd chemo treatment has proven to be much harder than the first, which is really throwing off all the positive energy I've been building up through Eastern medicine and meditation and yoga. It sucks. It really, really sucks. Not only do I not feel like myself, I don't look like myself either. I look like Natalie Portman in V for Vendentta, which Seth is really loving, I think. Side note: We found out I have a scar shaped like a "V" on the back of my head. Coincidence? I think not. I look like a woman who is really, really angry with society and should be in a punk band or something like that. Wait a minute... I am really angry with society. Scratch that, I'm angry with societal ideas of cancer, in particular, breast cancer. I do not fit the "mold" of a breast cancer patient and I haven't since the beginning. This is why it took me 3 attempts to find a doctor with enough balls to order a mammogram... A mammogram! They acted like I was telling them to order a time machine, and could they please bill my insurance?! So maybe this buzz cut is more "me" right now, in this moment, than I think. Maybe that's the point of losing my hair, coming from a universal stand-point, is to shake things up a bit, starting with the fighting with the doctors, to fighting to get a diagnosis, to eventually, looking like the "cancer-rebel" I feel like inside. If I walked down the street right now, no one would even think about messing with me. I would be the one thinking about messing with them, the hoodlums! (I don't think real punks say Hoodlums, so bust out a thesaurus if you want more authenticity.) Maybe I should pull a Bruce Willis in "Unbreakable" and start taking the crime of Rogers Park into my own hands! (Again, Bruce Willis not generally the icon for punkness) Or, I could sit here and download "True Blood" and fantasize about being a vampire, or at least knowing a vampire (the kind that doesn't want to kill me, of course. But if he wants to kill me, he won't because I'm different that any human he's ever met. Duh.)
I do have to say that I think every woman should buzz/shave her head at some point in her life. Once again, if someone would have said that to me a mere 6 months ago, I would have told them to.... you get it. But seriously, for those of you who know me... how crazy is this? Ok, I'm done rambling and now I'm going to search desperately through my fridge for something that doesn't taste like metal. What I really want is a burger. I just might take off my vegetarian cloak and get one. YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?? (says Punk Erica) I am going to have some SERIOUS material if I ever go back into acting! BOOYAH! Enjoy the pics, please.

I think cuteness can cure cancer

2009-04-30T07:07:00.001-07:00

Well everyone, WE ADOPTED A PUPPY! She is probably the cutest puppy on the planet, luckily we found her! As I was getting my new do yesterday (it's pretty cute by the way) my adorable hair stylist mentioned in passing that she had a ton of puppies at her house. My eyes lit up and I instantly forgot that I was being transformed into new woman. "What kind of puppies?", I asked trying to play it cool. "Well, they are tea-cup terrier and poodle mix. WHAT??? That is exactly the kind we have been searching for! This is fate! As you might have guessed, we went to visit the puppies and fell in love. She is only 6 weeks old, so we will be picking her up next weekend. I am so excited, especially because I was waiting for the time to be right or a sign from above, and I got one! The univerise wanted to me to go to the Hair Cutter on Lincoln Ave!

So, come visit us and our new little girl. We have some names picked out, but we're trying to let them marinate before we leak them to the general public.

I hope you enjoy the pics! Puppy advice is needed... we are virgin puppy owners!

Hasta La Vista... hair

2009-04-29T06:02:00.000-07:00

So it begins. Nothing like getting ready for bed, pulling your hair back out of your face, and getting a handful of it in return. Ah, the joys of modern medicine. Somewhere between my first chemo session and now, I have tricked myself into believing that the whole hair loss thing wasn't going to happen to me. While using the diffuser on my bouncy, carefree curls I'd think, "These suckers and not going anywhere. They feel so strong!" Well, I was wrong, but I'm not watching it fall out strand by strand, ala Terms of Endearment. I am headed straight to the hair cuttery on this fine Wednesday morning in April (What is with this weather,by the way?) to get it cut, and I mean short. I'm going to attach a picture for your viewing please. Please keep in mind that I'm using Natalie Maines from the Dixie Chicks as my model, so I'm bound to look way, way more smokin'!
Before I say goodbye to my hair for a few months, I'd like to share some of my favorite hair moments, a greatest hits list, if you will.

-My blond days... I was playing a movie star and Jason, my director, thought it would be more realistic as a brunette trying to be a blond. It worked. It looked awesome. Don't get me wrong, I would have had to give plasma twice a week to keep it up, but it was fun while it lasted.
-I am so method. I was playing an Indian/Italian/Jewish woman with long, long dark hair, so we decided to have extensions put in. Well, as most of us know, storefront theatre doesn't have thousands of dollars to spend on the hair budget, so I ended up in Wrigleyville with a Spanish woman with a Mohawk. We could only afford to put a few in so it sort of looked like a glorified mullet. I will do anything for my art.
-The many perms in junior high school. No wonder Chad Rucinski wouldn't go to the dance with me. I wouldn't go to the dance with me.
-The hot rollers in high school for the dance team. We kept Aqua Net in business.
-French braids, side french braids, half french braids, backward french braids. My Mother now has arthritis in her hands.
-My new awesome haircut by the talented Patrick. I'll miss you the most, dear hair cut. I've finally found you and I know I'm going to lose you. We will meet again, my friend.

Ok, enough dramatics. I'm going to do it. I am brave. I'm not scared that I'll look like G.I. Jane. I secretly hope I will look like Natalie Portman and I think Seth does too. Here we go!

So... I'm a vampire? Sah-weet.

2009-04-28T13:30:00.000-07:00

For anyone who talks to me on a semi-regular basis, you know my current obsession with vampires. Before you roll your eyes, please know that I read the Twilight series before the movie and the craziness, so lay off me! For anyone who hasn't read them, they-are-awesome. I actually started reading them (thanks so my genius sister) somewhere between my first mammogram and my first biopsy. At the time, I was reading some depressing book about a high school shooting, and I thought I deserved a little smut. Oh...but I got so much more including but not limited to romance and good old fashioned vampire lust.

It's every girl's dream! Picture this... you're eighteen years old, kind of awkward, both socially and physically, and a one hundred year old vampire, who's posing as a devastatingly handsome and brooding high school student, finds you irresistible. He's sexy and dangerous, but opens cars doors, never, EVER, tries to go past kissing, and is nice to his mother. **Spoiler Alert** In the end, after four deliciously addictive page turners, it all works out between the mortal and the vamp and they live happily ever after. These are the pieces of literature that got me through the news I had cancer. I'm easy I guess, but then, in true blood-sucking fashion, I craved more... (Wahahahahaha)

Faced with the deservedly innocent ribs from my spouse, I fought back the need to start from the beginning of the series, this time taking my time with each delicate page, and maybe, maybe, busting out a highlighter during the good parts for future reference. Since then, I've flirted with a few other books, some extremely well written and bound to make me smarter (and not meant for pre-pubescent girls), but it wasn't the same. I was hopelessly devoted to the Cullen family.

Once again, my sister came to my rescue. She gave me that much needed hit of Vampire lovin' I was craving, just in time for the frequent couch sentences I was facing due to chemotherapy.

The short-lived television series, Moonlight, is even more satisfying that my other obsession for a few main reasons:
1. Duh. I don't have to use my imagination. There they are, hungry for blood with a keen interest in crime-fighting, live on my picture making machine. Bring on the dark chocolate covered raisins.
2. The main vampire is 30 which he will remain until the end of time. I am 30 (my birthday was a few weeks ago and I have yet to update my blog on the details. Stay tuned.) He is well past puberty, which makes it slightly less creepy. All of the main vampires are around the same age. I've heard 30 is the new 20 and they are just confirming that fact.

A few days ago, somewhere within my four episode marathon, it hit me. Of course I can relate to the vampires! How could it be any more obvious? Most of the vampires I'm exposed to (in my head), save the horny teenage vampires, are "turned' against their will by an evil sire. They are turned from average every day human beings into something entirely different, something they fear. Some examples of their monstrosities are fangs, glowing red eyes, and an unquenchable thirst for blood. I haven't sipped any A positive yet, but I tell you what, I'm pretty sure my eyes were glowing other day, among the other new additions to my anatomy.
The vamps are always concerned that the people they love (or are in love with) will think that they are monsters once they find out the truth, when in reality, it makes them even sexier. That's my whole hang up with the reality of losing my hair and being sick. I'm worried that it will make the people around me uncomfortable and/or that people won't look at me the same.
Finally, and maybe most importantly, they are immortal. No matter what dangers they face, and believe me, I've seen some doosies, they survive. Not only do they survive, they kick some serious ass. I know one thing, I would hire a vampire in a heartbeat if I was Britney Spears. Paparazzi who? I think you can draw the parallel pretty easily on this one.

So, it might be a stretch, but I think I'm onto something. Does anyone think my husband would blow a gasket if I tell him I want to go back to grad school and write my thesis on Vampires and their effects on Cancer patients?

The circus

2009-04-18T03:06:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know, it's 5:00 a.m on a Saturday morning. Pay no mind. The muse hit me this morning with some light stomach cramping and dry eyes, so I felt moved to the keyboard.

I haven't written in awhile because I haven't felt like it. Truth be told, I've been kind of angry about this whole big process. Let me give you a little background.

Wednesday morning, I wake up, as nervous as a kindergartner on her first day of school, pack my bag, and head to the hospital. Seth is with me, thank goodness, and we head into the doctor's office. They reiterate all the side effects, and add a few more for good measure, and ask me if I have any questions. Well here's one: "Do I have to do this? I mean, seriously guys," I laugh "can you just give me a pill or something and we can just forget about this whole messy cancer thing?" I didn't say that, obviously, but that question, along with many others swam through my head. I headed back into the big, open room filled with navy blue leather lazy boys for your ultimate comfort and they told me to pick any chair. At least they could have assigned me a seat, don't I have enough on my mind?

All bitterness aside, the nurses and doctors are amazing. My nurse was a few years older than me, so I think she took a liking to me right away ( I think everyone takes a liking to me right away, and I have been wrong before). She gives me the whole rundown of the blood work before every chemo, the different drugs that will be administered, and all the emergency contact numbers in case of any severe side effects, like bleeding internally or me turning into a glowing, green alien. I smile politely and say, "ok, great, so I'll call you at this number if any of those things happen?" One final test of my white blood cell count and off we go.

I pop on my earbuds and go to town on my imagery cd. I'm trying so hard to keep my eyes closed not staring at all of the sick people around me. It takes everything in my power not to start crying or screaming or laughing, but I focus on the calm soothing voice and persevere. I feel absolutely nothing but nerves for the next hour and a half. I did have to go to the bathroom more than usual, and my urine was bright pink, but other than that, I was fine.

Here's where the circus metaphor comes in to play (thanks for being patient). Since January, I've been preparing for chemotherapy. Of course, I had tests and surgeries and shots and enough doctors appointments to get a medal, but this was it. This was the big bad monster everybody talks about and writes about. Actually, it's not a monster at all. It's a tight rope, and I am the incredible Erica Unger, taking her first step onto the rope, thousands of feet above the ground. Before I step, I turn around and see Seth, my Mom, Dad, Danielle, Robyn, and all the other wonderful faces who have supported me so fiercely the last three months. I smile bravely, tell them not to worry, that I'm going to be fine. I might even give a little motivational speech before I take my first step. Maybe I have on a hot pink cape with aqua blue tights and an aqua blue leotard, which I look fabulous in with no spankz. I haven't given this any thought, obviously.

Then I take my first step. I turn around hesitantly to see if they're still there. Yep, ok, they can still reach me if I fall. I take another step. This is where it gets scary. I'm out here on my own. I know they are behind me, but every step I take, I have to focus on the other side and take it, alone. The tight rope isn't long, but that doesn't make the fall any less scary. I can feel other forces, God, energy, my grandparents, all around me holding me up, giving me strength so I'm lightweight and I know that the family behind me, will be there on the other side. It's this middle part that gets kind of hairy. A six month long tight rope act is going to require a lot of patience, but I'm grateful it's only six months and not a lifetime.

The side effects are totally manageable. If you are interested, its mostly digestive problems and fatigue, no nausea, which I am so thankful for. I've surround myself not only with family and friends, but a spectacular support team filled with doctors, nurses, acupuncturists, Reiki therapists, nutritionists, and a wonderful counselor, to name a few. Ultimately, and thankfully, this is my journey. I've started a self-discovery process that isn't always going to be pretty, but I'm trying to always make true. In true theatrical form, I've used a circus analogy, but when it comes down to it, its just me and my body, and of course my wonderful support team, to catch me if I fall.

The big scary chemo monster

2009-04-15T16:10:00.000-07:00

So, I'm still alive and kickin', stupid chemo monster! I feel pretty good after my first round today, a little tired and sick, but I just took a sunny walk with my Moms, and I feel tons better. Thanks to everyone for the calls. I love knowing that I have the most amazing friends and family. That makes all of this worlds easier.

Please stay tuned for the following blog posts.
1. Birthday Part 1 (food and family)
2. Birthday Part 2 (more food and family, plus friends and massages)
3. (Insert something witty)

Love and Peace and Health to all of you!
E

National Lampoon's Chemo Vacation

2009-04-10T10:00:00.001-07:00

Sick. I know. I apologize.

Funny story...

(The story takes place in an office, Monday morning, let's say three o'clock, in the summer of 2006. Erica, a young vibrant actress, types mechanically, looking bored. Her face lights up as she suddenly has an idea. As she pulls up her Internet browser and furiously types in "Craigslist. com", she picks up the phone and dials her best friend Robyn, an equally self-actualized woman of the city, at work. Robyn answers. Their conversation goes as follows)

Robyn: "____ Investments, this is Robyn!"
Erica: I have an idea.
Robyn: What's your idea?
Erica: I'm going to quit my job... and become an nanny.
(Beat)
(Beat)
(Beat)
Robyn (treading cautiously): Erica, why do you want to be a nanny?
Erica: I think it would be so much fun! Especially if I could get cool parents as employers.
Robyn: Erica, exactly how are you picturing yourself when you become a nanny?
(beat)
Erica: Well... I picture myself in a park somewhere. Definitely on a blanket. A baby gently coo-ing beside me as I read some like "Weathering Heights".
(beat)
(They explode with laughter)
Robyn: I knew it.

So, I'm officially out of a job (ask me about it sometime). I'm not planning on getting another one until, oh I don't know, mid October. I have so much time on my hands, I can't wait! Oh shoot. I have to do chemotherapy. I KNEW there was a catch. Blasted! I've already planned out my entire summer! These are a few things I'm planning on doing, during chemo, in sickness and health.

1. Becoming a savvy, smart decorator. I have a lot of books and all day access to HGTV. I'm already thinking about stenciling something in our bedroom or recovering an old piece of furniture with recyclable fabric.
2. Getting lots of beach time. I'd like to watch the sun rise in the morning while I'm scribbling furiously in my journal. Note to self: buy a journal.
3. Learn how to garden or at least be able to identify different types of flowers. I have neither a garden nor garden tools. So maybe I just want to buy flowers and place them sporadically throughout my apartment. (see #1)
3. Learn Spanish and Italian. They're both Romance languages, right? Piece of Cake.
4. Take up canoeing. One time, I canoed in North Carolina in the ocean. I heard it's like riding a bike. (winget)
5. Become Susie Homemaker. This is how I see it: I'm wearing an apron, flipping pancakes and making coffee for Seth, as he sits down at the breakfast table with his morning paper. (He hates pancakes and he calls his i-phone his morning paper) When he leaves for work, I start one of my many projects, such as the table I'm going to stucco or mosaic, until I'm ready to make something healthy and delicious for dinner. I'm sure the recipe will be from the Natural Health magazine my mother-in-law bought me. I'm positive about that.
6. Oh, I almost forgot! I'll be meeting my friends out for coffee (green tea) constantly.
7. I will re-organize our file cabinet so that all you have to do is think of the piece of paper you are looking for, and it will appear.
8. I will learn a magic trick that allows me to complete task number 7.
9. I will have in-home spa days using ingredients such as lavender oil, organic sugar, sunflower oil, and rhubarb.
10. I will read all the cancer books everyone has given me, in addition to the six I checked out from the library. I will also read all of the Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings books. Scratch that. I will re-read all of the Twilight books. I love vampires.

I've got a busy summer ahead of me!

If you think I'm kidding, then you should know that these are the things that run through my brain on a daily basis. I totally forgot to schedule the chemotherapy and radiation in my busy, busy summer. I also forgot to schedule the resting portion of my recovery.

I need to find the "pause" button in my brain. If anyone has any suggestions, let me know.

Bring out your inner yogi!

2009-04-09T11:09:00.000-07:00

My super amazing friend Kelly has agreed to teach a yoga workshop benefiting our walk! She is such an amazing teacher who has really inspired both my practice and my life. Since I'll be going through chemo at the time, we want to focus on celebrating life and our bodies in a gentle, healing way. Translation: Please come if you can't touch your toes. I'm attaching the cool poster Seth made for me. There is a $20 suggested donation (not bad for a kick-ass yoga class and refreshments) but we'll have a pay-what-you-can policy at the door. I would love to see you! I'll even let you rub my bald head and make a wish! Too soon? xoxoxoxo

Erica Brockovich, super-sleuth

2009-04-06T10:46:00.000-07:00

For those of you who know me really well, you probably know about my occasional obsessive/compulsive behavior. It’s not like I’m sitting around alphabetizing my spices…but I did make an inventory of our spice cabinet, so that we know what we are working with at all times. I like to have a plan and I am not spontaneous. I love spreadsheets and shoe racks and the container store. So does it surprise you that I’m all about the things that I can control about my cancer? I’ve basically turned into a rabbit, eating only green foods, nuts, and seeds. This morning, I put frozen grass into my blender. If any of these things appall you, stop reading now, because I’m about dive head first into something so much more extreme: The evils of the cosmetic industry. (Wahahahaha)

This sh*t is crazy! Now, I know there are arguments on both sides for this extremely touchy topic, but I’m going to err on the side of caution and stay away from all of it. There are preservatives called parabens that most cosmetic companies add to their products for, well, preservation. They hide them with clever prefixes like ethyl, butyl, methyl and propyl (are we watching the golden girls?) but are all basically the same ingredient. When you apply your Bath and Body works lotion, it is absorbed directly into your skin, then into your bloodstream. Are you still with me? Good. Here’s where it gets crazy: The paraben takes on the characteristics of Estrogen and will attach itself to any stray cancer cells, forming a tumor. For example, my tumor is an estrogen receptor positive tumor, so I have to stay away from birth control pills and soy products because they contain high doses of estrogen, making my risk for re-occurrence higher. I didn’t know that every single product I was using was feeding my tumor! Slimer was primed and ready to absorb every bit of estrogen I gave him, the glutton. (Please see earlier blog entitled “Sweet dreams are made of these” for reference.) So if you were me, wouldn’t you stop applying these products? Even if you wouldn’t, I am, so the question is rhetorical. Anyway, I went through all of my products and threw away anything with the word paraben attached to it. I went even further and tested my paraben-free products on this website, http://www.cosmeticdatabase.com/index.php. My suntan lotion from Whole Foods (or Whole Paycheck -$.10 for your recyclable bags) was 7 out of 10 on the toxicity scale.

Ok, I’m gingerly stepping down off my soapbox. I leave with a quote from Biggie Smalls, also knows as The Notorious B.I.G., also known as Big Poppa, “If you don’t know; now you know.”

Han Solo is my new rapper name...

2009-04-04T09:25:00.000-07:00

Because we have successfully frozen our future babies! First and foremost, I'd like to thank my ovaries for being patient with me the last few weeks. Despite the hormones, they performed quite nicely, Oscar worthy if I do say so myself. I'd also like to thank Seth's strong swimmers for fertilizing all of the mature eggs possible! He is such an overachiever. Did you know that Seth had straight A's in high school? Yea, Daddy! I didn't think I would be quite this excited with the end result, but I am absolutely elated. I'd also like to thank all the nurses and doctors, especially Frannie who gave me the sleepy time drugs and Dr. Lawson with the kind eyes, and Dr. Kazer for having a phallic medallion. If I had a million extra dollars, I would take them all on vacation or buy them flat-screen TVs, their choice.

(que dramatic music)

Hey, wait, I'm not done! This is a once and a lifetime thing and I'm not letting a little music stop me from thanking all the people who were instrumental in our baby freezing! I want to thank all of our friends, especially Des, Robyn, Courtney, Jack and Diane (two American kids, doing the best they can) and the others for your support and love. My sister for being super awesome and my parents (both sets) for all of it. Everything. Also, I want to thank our future little ones for patiently waiting to come into the world. We will make it worth your while, I promise. But most importantly, I want to thank my amazing husband for giving me shots even though it made his stomach hurt a little, making me tea, scratching my head, putting up with some moodiness and overall brattiness. Seth, you are the most amazing man in the whole world and I can't thank God enough for bringing you into my life. Thank you.

I like Target better, anyway

2009-04-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

Two complaints today:
1. I have a callback for a big Walmart commercial today, but alas, it shoots Friday, the day of our egg retrieval, aka embryo freezing. So there's no way I can do the commercial. That makes me sad on lots on so many different levels. At least I know the new hair cut still suits my "young mom who's ethnically ambiguous" look. Phew.

2. Our doctor, let's call him Dr. Follistim, will not be performing the procedure on Friday because it's not his clinic day. So I'll never have a chance to ask him why on earth he wears a gold chain around his neck in the shape of a penis. I mean, I know he's a fertility doctor, but come on! I might have to send an anonymous email to satiate my curiosity.

Oh, and I'm pregnant. APRIL FOOL'S! I bet you didn't see that one coming! Booyah!

Doing "The Limbo"... without a stick

2009-03-31T15:10:00.000-07:00

I'm kind of at the point in my "journey", for lack of a better word, where I'm in limbo. I've been through the ringer over the last 7 months with doctors appointments, tests, needles, and machines that are entirely too big and expensive to make so much damn noise. I sort of feel like I've lived another lifetime since I first found the lump in August. Honestly, I can't even remember what it feels like to not have cancer. At first, I couldn't live with it. The only way I could get up in the morning was to call Robyn, Seth, or my Mom and have them talk me down off the ledge. As the days went by, it got easier, but every time I'd come up for air, something would push me back down underneath the water.

First it was the diagnosis. Instead of getting a house call like in the olden days, I got a phone call telling me that I have cancer. I was then told to schedule an MRI, but I was way to busy being famous, selling fried seafood to the world population, to be bothered that week, so I scheduled it for the following week. When they found additional "masses" on the MRI, I had to wait another week to schedule two more biopsies. After they found the "masses" to be benign I said to myself, "Self, you got through that ordeal virtually unscathed! Point Unger!"Then after surgery, in a drug induced haze, I was told that there was no lymph node involvement, only to find out that there was a very small amount of disease in the first node. Make up your mind, people! No wonder I'm a nervous wreck.

So, after we finally had a full report from pathology, we knew much more about treatment. Of course, I didn't expect that my treatment would be 7 months, during my most favorite time of the year, but I swallowed that, too. So now, I am supposed to feel better, right? I told myself that once I knew my plan, my treatment, I would be home free. I was expecting little birds and squirrels to start circling around my head (the birds, not the squirrels), while singing that song in the computer commerical (Click here for a visual). Then why, oh why, am I not skipping down the street, doing round-off back hand springs (circa Jenny Kerns 1995)? Everything seems even more uncertain then it did before!

That's where the limbo part comes into play. Instead of wondering if I'll lose my hair, I know I'm going to lose my hair. It's inevitable. Instead of wondering what chemotherapy will be like, I know that I will find out very, very soon, and it's all so scary. Side note, it's counterproductive to put poisonous chemicals in my body, when I spend a majority of my day pumping myself full of anti-oxidants and vitamins in an effort to get the poisons out. Am I right, or am I right? If you don't follow me, it's ok, I'm kind of running on a tangent here. Work with me a bit.

So, screw it, I'm scared and I don't care who knows it.(I am aware that sounded like lyrics from a Beastie Boys album) Today, I am making a promise to myself and everyone else around me (that's you), that I will stop trying to be strong all the time. Because the truth of the matter is, I am human. No matter how much I hate to admit it, my body is made up of soft skin and tissues that might get a little weak during my treatment, no matter how many acai berries I eat. All I can do is keep giving both my body and my mind attention and kindness, and hopefully, I'll come out the same person on the other side, sans hair. Oh, and by the way, my hair is super short. And (dramatic pause) I love it. I love it so much, in fact, that I will be keeping it this length as soon as it grows back. Take that, evil hair killing chemicals! You actually gave me the courage to change my look!

So that's where I'm at today. Tune in tomorrow for more deep thoughts by Erica Unger.

Fertile Myrtle

2009-03-28T13:52:00.000-07:00

There are definitely benefits of being an IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) patient at 29. First of all, I lack the frustration that comes with months or years of trying to conceive naturally. That was very apparent this morning at 7am, as I stood in line with a dozen other women, waiting to be taken back for testing. You see, there are no appointments for these morning tests so everyone wakes up early, U2 concert style, and camps out in the lobby of the office. Needless to say, no one looked very happy to be there and I can't say that I blame them. For me, I was pretty happy to be there, considering there was no chance of getting any bad news. I just showed up, took the tests, and went on my merry way. I also found out that I am moving along quite nicely in the process and should be done earlier that we originally thought. I'm basically the star pupil on the fertility wing of Northwestern hospital.
Another benefit is that I am currently not trying to have a baby, which equals less pressure and stress. We're simply making a back up plan. Just like you'd do if you planned an outdoor wedding in May. The odds are pretty good it might be sunny and clear, but if it rains, you better have rented a tent.
My favorite thing about this process is that even if chemotherapy gets the better of my reproductive system, I could still have a baby that has Seth's lips and sense of humor, and my eyelashes and superhuman abilities. (I'll show you sometime)

So here's what kind of sucks. A)Shots. I have to give myself shots everyday packed full of estrogen. I hope my future children appreciate the fact that I hiked up my dress in the bathroom of an Olive Garden to inject myself with hormones. Why was I in an Olive Garden, you ask? I have no idea. B) My body thinks its pregnant, so if you didn't know me, you might think I'm about three months along. Nothing is more flattering than a huge bloated belly when you are not, in fact, expecting. Awesome. Also, I'm experiencing memory lapses, headaches, crying jags. All that said, I'm glad we're doing it, even if it is necessary to wear sweat pants every waking minute of the day. I'll just pretend its Thanksgiving.

A Shameless Plug

2009-03-23T15:09:00.000-07:00

There are two reasons for this posting:
1. To brag about my incredibly talented Mother
2. To give you all a chance to purchase a one-of-a-kind apron that supports a terrific cause.

After all, I'm just looking out for you. (insert Purple Pie Man laugh)

Please don't feel like you need to buy one of these, but pass it on to anyone who might be interested! They are super girly and great for Mother's Day!

Click here to buy an apron on Etsy

Does not compute! (robot voice)

2009-03-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

I am currently attending the University of Cancer and Seth is my lab partner. I had a total of 12 hours of doctor's appointments this week and I am experiencing information overload. The appointments were as follows: Radiation Oncology, Medical Oncology, Fertility Oncology, Stress Counseling and my personal favorite, Nutrition Counseling. I accumulated enough paper over the past week to make a great redwood blush. Lucking my OCD took over this morning, and I organized my paper collection in a neat little collapsible binder, and color coded each category accordingly. (that's illiteration!) That made me feel a little better.

Here is the play-by-play of our week. You can skip to the bottom of each section if you just want to know my treatment schedule.

Tuesday: Radiation Oncology with Dr. Hayes. My guess is that he was quite the ladies man in his prime. He was awesome and his sidekick, Dr. Donnelly, was great too. I will have to 7 weeks of radiation, 5 days a week, two weeks after I complete my chemotherapy regimen. Piece of cake. I might even get a little suntan in the process. Did you know your skin can't decipher between radiation and sunshine? Weird, I know.

Wednesday: Medical Oncology with Dr. Senorita Tellez. She was so sweet and compassionate and so pretty. I have switched my girl crush from Dr. Lucas to Dr. Tellez. She gave me the total rundown of my pathology report and explained my chemo treatment. She told me I would lose my hair sometime between the 1st and 2nd round, and I politely asked if there were any cases of people that didn't lose their hair? She sadly shook her head. I had to ask! That said, I will do 8 rounds of chemotherapy, every two weeks for 4 months. I should begin around the middle or end of April. Happy Birthday, me! :)

Thursday: Fertility appointment with Dr. Kazer and Dr. Lawson. I'll spare you all the details, but you might want to be really, really nice to me the next four weeks. I may turn into Medusa the Gorgon or Ursula the Sea witch. Believe me, you don't want to tussle with those two ladies! Because of the fertility treatments, I can't begin chemotherapy for about a month.

Friday: I met with Nutritionist Karen Radon and Counselor Carol Dredgenberg. This was by far the best day. Carol reminded me of a younger version of my Grandma, so that was awesome. She measured some energy points to locate the strongest and weakest points of my body. Then I was transferred to the nutritionist who went over her suggested diet plan before, during and after chemotherapy, first to build my body up, then to combat some of the side effects. The gist of the diet is lots of fruits and vegetables, no soy, small amounts of dairy, daily protein shakes, seeds and nuts, and lots of fish. I am actually really excited to give my body so much love and attention. I hope I come out looking like She-Ra from Masters of the Universe.

Thanks to everyone for all the wonderful cards, phone calls, emails, chocolate, and oranges. I honestly had no idea how lucky I was before this all happened. I have the most amazing friends and family behind me. I hope you all know how much you mean to Seth and me.

Go Boilers!

Does Dani have to get one, too?

2009-03-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

I had my first experience with anxiety at the ripe old age of 5. I can remember it so vividly. It was a normal weekday with my Mom and sister. I'm pretty sure I wearing something pink and frilly and I am equally sure that my sister was finding some way to torment me. I knew we were going on an outing, and I was along for the ride. Then, My mom pulled me aside and told me that we were going to the courthouse to get some medicine so that I wouldn't get sick when I started school. She then preceded to explain to me how this medicine would be administered. A shot? Will it hurt? Will I ever recover? Why doesn't Danielle have to do it?All these questions swam through my mind on the way to the courthouse. By the time we arrived, I was a nervous wreck and when you're five years old and scared shitless, this usually manifests itself in tears. My Mom might disagree, but I remember silently crying to myself, my huge crocodile tears streaming down my face. If all this wasn't torture enough, there was a line out the door filled with parents and their children. Some of them were in on the secret, but some played happily and sucked on lollipops as they faced their impending doom. What seemed like hours later (15 minutes, tops) I was up. I bravely walked up to the lady in the nurse's outfit, wiped away my tears, and slowly, deliberately rolled up my sleeve. The nurse took one look at me at laughed. "Oh honey, this kind of medicine you swallow. You don't need a shot today." I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I swallowed the liquid happily, and we were done. Now, I'd like to tell you the moral of the story is that you should never listen to your parents, but alas, we all know better than that.

I'm on my way to the chemo doctor for the first time. I actually have to leave in about 3 minutes. For the past 4 hours, I've worked myself up into a panic, just like little Erica did 25 years ago. I thought of that memory and how it affected the way I learned to deal with scary things. I've always been the type of person to worry about things that probably won't happen, like when I get hives the night before a big flight or how I panic before a big audition. I hope when I get there today I'll find out that it isn't as bad as I thought. In fact, I know it's going to be much better than I thought. The little Erica inside me is telling me that's it's going to be ok.

A New Normal

2009-03-16T18:18:00.000-07:00

Well, it's official:Mexico is gorgeous. For those of us who have grown up in a colder, less forgiving climate than the sunny beaches of Mexico, you all know what a treat it is to walk outside in the middle of March in flip flops and a bikini. Let me correct myself... it's a gosh darn miracle. When I imagined myself in this tropical paradise during the days prior to the trip, I also imagined the "old me", the "cancer-free" me. There I was, Erica the indestructible, defiantly sipping from a pink glass filled with pink liquid and a pink umbrella, daring the world to tell me that I was sick. I don't need to tell you how cranky it made me to get off the plane and learn that I still have cancer! What the hell is that about? My question unanswered, I woke up on Sunday morning, the hot Mexican sun blinding me through our private balcony overlooking the pool and the ocean (cue violins), strapped on my favorite 2-piece and headed outside. As I started to relax into my cozy law chair with a fine sampling of a Jody Picoult paperback, the same old thoughts started to creep into my psyche. "You have breast cancer", I scolded. "Your hair will fall out, piece by piece, and you will wear a wig for 6 months". "You will turn 30 in a chemo chair." The list of poisonous commands swam through my brain. Why did they follow me here? I'm trying to get some R & R, for Christ sake! Can't a girl get a tan in peace?

When I opened my eyes, I was still in my recliner, overlooking the pool. Then I realized, that no matter where I go, I will still have cancer. I could be swimming with the penguins in Antarctica and I would have cancer. I could be having high tea with the Queen of England and still have to go through chemotherapy. Then it hit me. This is my new "normal". The quietness and peace around me suddenly became much more peaceful, and the sound of the ocean magnified in the distance. I recognized the negative thoughts and the fear, and let them pass. I reminded myself that I have a lot of other thoughts that have absolutely nothing to do with cancer, damn good ones at that. Like how I decided to order the fish tacos for dinner or how I purchased the flowing sundress from Macy's, despite the gentle warning from my hubby. From then on, I stopped obsessing about obsessing about my cancer. Cancer is a part of my life now, just like my Mexican heritage, my love of the vino, and my dimples from my Grandma, Flora. The difference is how I choose to fit them into the puzzle that is my life. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's not easy... but I'm working on it.

Erica (to Seth): "It hurts when I do this..." Seth: "So don't do that!"

2009-03-06T14:21:00.001-08:00

Ah, technology. I have this insane love/hate relationship with it. First I'll speak of the love. Over the past 50 years, some really, really smart people came up with a way to detect my cancer, which is the size of pea, in my breast without cutting me open. Then, they found out how to detect the speed of growth, the medication it responds to, and how to remove it. I even had some sort of radioactive kryptonite injected into my tender, tender breast so that it would "light up" my sentinel lymph nodes. Kind of cool, but very painful. Today, when I saw the surgeon he gave me enough percentages to make my head spin, but dammit, I felt better afterwards. The good news is that I have a 9% chance that the tumor has spread beyond the 1st lymph node and because of that, I won't have to have another surgery. I was a little disappointed that I won't get to experience that wonderful anesthesia again, but very relieved that one more step was eliminated. Now, don't be surprised if that news changes, because these doctors can be real tricksters from time to time. So, as of right now, I am planning on radiation and chemotherapy. I say let's get the party started.

Now onto the "hate" part of the scenario. Technology, more specifically the world wide web, can be amazing, but it can also be very dangerous. Some of you may have heard of of the Internet, but if not, you can basically type anything into a little box and get tons of information. This is great if you are comparing prices of office shredders or looking for the cheapest flight to Vegas, but not so great when you have a health issue. Without fail, every single time I start researching on the Internet, I walk away scared shitless. It might not hit me right away, but one tidbit of information will re-surface in my brain when I least expect it. Like at 3am when I can't sleep or when I'm having a perfectly lovely evening with Seth. Now, don't get me wrong, there are some amazing breast cancer survivor stories, but for some reason, I only remember the bad ones. Even if I read 30 survivor stories, all good, and read one story about a breast cancer tumor metastasizing to the brain... yep, you guessed it. Am a masochist? Why do I keep reading this stuff?

That said, I vow to each and every one of you that I will not type "breast cancer" into the little box ever again. I will only type things like "Vegas, Thunder Down Under, Cheap tix" from this point forward.

We leave for Mexico tomorrow morning. I promise to bring back some sunshine and warm breezes!

xo
Erica

Bullshit

2009-03-04T14:20:00.000-08:00

This is the first word that comes to mind when I think about my new diagnosis. The second word is "horseshit", a favorite of my dad's. I was so pissed off last night, I threw a few pillows and a Kleenex box. I didn't even brush my teeth, even after my husband's gentle coaxing. I was going to show the cancer who's boss by swearing, avoiding my nightly dental routine, and throwing an object that is made up entirely of feathers. I am such a hard ass. I mean seriously, should I join the army rangers? Maybe sign up to be a navy seal? You can just sign up for that, right?

So now that the anger has subsided and I'm left alone with myself and my thoughts, I think I have to find some other ways to show the cancer that I am the boss, not it. Here are some of my thoughts, and I'm totally up for other suggestions.

1. I need a new image for the stupid cancer in my lymph node. If the breast tumor was slimer, should the lymph node tumor be the alien from aliens? Or perhaps another ghostbusters character? Or maybe flotsam or jetsam from the little mermaid? Regardless, it's out of me, so I'll have to imagine it in a petry dish slowly deteriorating into nothing, which is really what it is... NOTHING! (pillow flies across the room, feathers everywhere)

2. I want to lean on my friends and family. People have been asking us what they can do for us. Well, one thing you can do is come over and play cards with us and maybe bring us a bottle of wine or some ginger brew. The refreshments are totally optional, but the cards are not. I am really good and I need to play at least 1 hour per day or I get the shakes.

3. Use the next 6-7 months as a time to be around the people who are most important to me and Seth. If you are reading this, it's probably you. I mean, seriously, I want to be sick of seeing you by thanksgiving. Desmin and Jack, our most frequent visitors, have done so much for our mental state just by sitting with us and watching American Idol or Top chef. This could be you! But you have to invite yourself over and I mean it! (Kleenex box...destroyed)

4. I'm going to try to eat only foods that support my body in destroying the cancer. If you see me eating a twinkie, it's up to you to knock me over and replace it with some cherries or a flax seed milkshake. If I'm confrontational, vicodin should do the trick.

5. Make bald beautiful. I want to do a photo shoot when I lose my hair. Seriously, I want to employ all the artists and film makers and photographers that I know and do an art installation about balding. I think I could look totally hot bald. I have a really nice shaped head, if I do say so myself. Maybe I'll even make a music video portraying Sinead O'Connor singing "Nothing Compares to You". This could be so fun! Maybe I'll shave my head tonight! Or maybe not... If you are interesting in participating or have additional ideas for the "Bald is Beautiful" art installation, you can email me or call me. If you think it's stupid idea, or you don't think bald is beautiful, I DON'T CARE. (I don't brush my teeth for 10 days and get 13 cavities)

So, all that said, I will be cured of this thing. I have total faith in myself and my husband and all of my friends and family. I have faith that God only gives us what we can handle, and he's obviously letting me know that he thinks I'm a rock star.

I love you all. Please come over and play cards.

Erica

I have exercised the demons!

2009-02-28T06:16:00.000-08:00

Well ladies and gentlemen, the cancer is officially out of me! As of February 26th, I am cancer free thanks to the outstanding surgical team at Northwestern hospital. So instead of boring you with the details of the surgery, I thought I'd give you some of the highlights of my experience:

1. The waiting room was packed with My mom, dad, sister, mom-in law, dad-in-law, and of course, Seth. Even though I could only have my mom and Seth in the surgery prep room, I was so grateful to have everyone out there waiting for me.
2. I had a super hot eastern Indian princess anesthesiologist. She looked just like my friend Anjali and Jasmine from Aladdin.
3. My surgeon apparently likes torture, so he ordered these crazy injections right before surgery. Seth held my hand, but seriously, worse pain ever. That was NOT a highlight, but I thought I'd get a few sympathy points for that one. :)
4. The sweet little Asian nurse lady gave me my first hit of anesthesia. WOW. That stuff is nice.
5. Dr. Bethke, my surgeon, putting his initials in marker on my breast like some sort of 80's rock star. I think Seth almost hulked out at that point.
6. Once I was in the operating room, they upped my dosage of anesthesia, I closed my eyes for what felt like one second, and when I opened them, I was being wheeled out of the operating room. One of the assistants asked me if I wanted something to drink and I replied, "A dirty martini". The crowd went wild.
7. The moment Seth and my Mom walked into the recover room was one of the best moments of my life. They told me that my lymph nodes were clear and that they removed the cancer. I burst into tears of joy. I then told my surgeon that he was freakin' awesome. Those drugs were strong, I'm telling you!
8. Seth making me re-enact "David at the Dentist" while I was coming out of anesthesia.
9. One of the nurses telling my Mom that as I was leaving surgery, I was shouting "I'm cancer free" through the hallways. Nice.
10. Coming home with my family, curling up the couch with some vicodin, and eating vegan chocolate chip cookies while my sister rubbed my head. Life is good.

I want to thank everything for all the phone calls, emails, cards and flowers! I should have the full pathology report early next week. I will keep everyone posted on my progress. Right now, I'm going back to bed!

Love you all! Erica

Sweet dreams are made of these...

2009-02-23T10:12:00.000-08:00

If you have read my other blog entries, you know I recently started meditating. It’s actually more like using positive mental images as tools to aid in the healing process. I woke up early on Saturday morning, threw on my ear buds and began to concentrate. I was asked by a woman with a very soothing voice to start imagining a place of total peace. As an eager and open participant of the process, I obediently thought of my honeymoon, laying on the beach with Seth and listening to the ocean. I could feel the sand underneath me and the warm Mexican air on my cheek. Easy enough, I have a great imagination; just ask my husband or my mother. My next task was to picture the cancer in my body. She asked me to imagine it as weak and confused. Then I was to imagine my white blood cells as strong and indestructible. No problem there, my cancer is weak and confused, and in my mind, looks like slimer from the ghost busters. My white blood cells are wearing tiny red capes. No big deal. Then, she asked me to imagine myself healthy and cancer-free and, of course, I pictured myself with washboard abs, running along the beach in a sports bra. The next mental image was harder for me to conjure. She wanted me to imagine my dreams for the future. I was stuck. Of course I want to have a family, maybe a buy a house, go on some big vacations, but are those things dreams or goals? Don’t most people want that?

Then I thought about what my answer would have been 15 years ago. I would have said that I wanted to be a successful film actor, who could run off to New York to appear on Broadway on a whim. I would be accepting an academy award by the age of 35, living with my husband in L.A in our 8 bedroom bungalow on the beach. Of course, I live with the man of my dreams, so I got that part right, but what happened to all the illusions of grandeur? I can remember wanting to be a doctor or a lawyer or an actress when I “grew up”, so what do I want to be now that I am grown up? What are my dreams for the future? After I get through all this cancer nonsense, I’m going to figure it out. In the meantime, I’m going to practice my Oscar speech.

Decisions, decisions

2009-02-21T07:16:00.000-08:00

Ever since inauguration day (the day I was diagnosed), I have been painfully aware of how "adult" disease can be. Never did I think at 29 I hear words like chemotherapy, egg harvest, malignant, and cancer. As a new adult (wink, wink) I've also discovered the power of choice. There are so many options available to us in our daily life that we take for granted. We can wake up in the morning, and make the choice to focus on the fact that it's cold and snowy, or we can make the choice to focus on the fact that the snow is absolutely beautiful when it drifts. These choices are much more serious when it comes to health care, and I'm facing some really difficult decisions. Did you know that people actually refuse chemotherapy? I just assumed if the doctor told you that you need it, you need it. I've been reading survivor stories about people who take a holistic approach to cancer and refuse to poison their bodies with chemotherapy. That option is much scarier to me that actually going through chemotherapy, but I know now that I have the choice.

I found this company in California that believes that the fourth element in cancer treatment after surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, is emotional oncology. I've been actively participating in this form of treatment by using visualization and meditation techniques. It's all VERY touchy feely, hippy dippie, but I absolutely love it. There is so much positive energy out there in the universe, why not grab some of it myself, right? So, to sum it all up, I choose to see snow, not cold, and beauty, not darkness. That's my choice. Stay warm.

Lovesick

2009-02-19T09:45:00.000-08:00

I have to gush about my husband. He is seriously the most amazing person in the entire world and I want to shout it from the rooftops! No matter what the news, good or bad, he just smiles and tells me that everything is going to be just fine. When I asked him if he was mad/scared/disappointed that we have to go through this so early in our marriage, he said "This is why we got married, honey." Oh, and did I mention that he is constantly making me laugh? He knows just what to say or what face to make to crack me up in an instant. I think that without him, I'd be curled in a ball under the covers or at a bar drinking away my sorrows. The last option wouldn't be that bad...

So all that said, he out did himself last night. He made a Root Vegetable Gratin that tasted like heaven! He busted out his favorite kitchen toy, the mandolin, and went to town. I'm newly vegetarian, and even though he cringes every time I say the word "vegetarian", he made me a delicious meat free meal, that was ready when I got home from a long night of yoga. My life isn't so hard after all. Oh and by the way, it looked just like the picture.

http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/root-vegetable-gratin

the yogi in me

2009-02-18T10:01:00.000-08:00

So today is the official kick start of my 7 days of yoga before the big surgery. I plan on practicing for at least an hour for 7 days because I think it will help me heal for Mexico! I'll be splitting my time between Om on the Range and Harmony yoga, and if anyone is interested in practicing with me, I'd love the positive energy! So what if I have to get in Child's Pose once or twice? It's not a contest! :)

hats and wigs and chemo

2009-02-17T13:28:00.000-08:00

I think the source of some of my mood swings is the possibility that I might lose my hair during chemotherapy. There, I said it. I've been telling myself that I don't care, that it will grow back, that it might be nice not to worry about my flowing mane for once in my life. That's all crap. I love my hair. It's curly when I want it to be and straight when I want it to be. I can thank my Mexican mother and Caucasian father for giving me the best of both worlds, as far as hair is concerned. There is this dark looming shadow over the idea of chemotherapy. Of course, it might suck, I might get sick, but hopefully it will kill any stray cancer cells and prevent it from coming back. So why can't I just focus on that instead of worrying about whether my eyebrows will fall out?

It's not even a sure thing that I will have to go through chemo, but every time I think about it, I feel like crying. Even though I'm getting good news left and right and I know that I'm going to survive to be a ripe old age, some deep rooted demon inside me is worrying about my hair! So I'm writing this in hopes of exercising those vanity demons, who are currently toying with my mental state. Thanks again for reading.

Good news is like a box of chocolates

2009-02-16T16:31:00.000-08:00

I've received two very good pieces of good news since Friday.
1. I am negative for the BRC1 and BRC2 gene, reducing my chance of getting breast cancer again.
2. The two additional biopsies I had on Friday, thought painful, came back benign.

I am so extremely lucky to have such a positive, hopeful diagnosis. I still can't believe how early I found it! Thanks to everyone who sent me good thoughts and prayers! I can now see the light at the end of the tunnel. My surgery is scheduled for February 26th, but might be pushed back until mid March.

A time for tears

2009-02-16T16:20:00.000-08:00

Well, if I thought I was an emotional person before my cancer, I am a walking ball of estrogen now. I feel like I experience such a huge range of emotions from minute to minute. I haven't really cried in public all that much, so I was extremely surprised at my last crying jag. Seth and I headed to Indianapolis for a wedding of a friend of mine from college. After a few glasses of wine, and several recounts of my cancer journey later, I found myself in the women's bathroom, crying on the shoulder of two of my old roommates. I'm going to blame this huge explosion of emotions on 2 things.

1. I saw my friend Jessi, whose Mom died of cancer while we were still in college. I wouldn't say that I was there for her as much as I should of been at that time, but we lived together, and I saw what she went through. She is such an inspirational person, and when we get together, we can pick up like we were never apart. She is the only person I know that is as emotional as me! Forget about it!

2. I've known these women since I was 18! They watched me go through some really bad times (as far as college goes) and it was sort of unbelievable to me that I was explaining my cancer diagnosis. I think talking about it out loud to them, not via email, made the whole thing unbelievably real.

So, I want to throw an apology out into the world for crying in the bathroom at a wedding. That said, I think I needed it. So thanks to the girls who listened, once again. And I'm going to take you up on that surrogate offer, even if was just the wine talking. ;)

My first letter...

2009-02-16T16:19:00.001-08:00

To my dear friends and family,

First of all, my deepest apologies if you are hearing this story for the first time via the internet. It's not the kind of news I would normally send in an email, but I wanted to give everyone an update on my current situation. About 3 weeks ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I caught it in the very beginning stages, for which I am so grateful. If everything goes according to plan, I will be having surgery to remove the tumor in a few weeks, and can begin a treatment plan, if any, shortly thereafter. The last few weeks have been really rough on Seth and me and we are so incredibly grateful to everyone for all of your love and support. News like this can be earth shattering, but when you pick yourself back up, you realize that every moment, every day, and every week is a gift. The shock and depression that overcame me in the first few weeks was overwhelming. I can look back now and know that this happened for a reason. Not only do I see the importance of living every day to its fullest potential, and loving the people around me unconditionally, but I will also tell people my story, in the hopes that I will help another woman someday.

So here it is:

Back in September, my friend Heather was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. When I found out, I was shocked. How could a 30 year-old woman get such an aggressive form of Cancer? Heather is in treatment and is doing remarkably well, but this news sent me into panic mode. I began doing daily breast exams, and as luck would have it, I found a lump. I went to see my doctor the very next day. She assessed the lump and told me because I didn't have any family history and I was so young, it was probably a cyst or a clogged milk duct. I left feeling like a million bucks. If the doctor said it was nothing, than it was nothing, right? A few weeks later, I started to feel uneasy about the doctor's prognosis. I decided that I needed a second opinion, and switched from Rush, University of Chicago to Northwestern hospital. The OBGYN I saw assessed the situation and told me, once again, I shouldn't worry about it. I stressed to the doctor how worried I had been about the lump, and she told me that if it would make me feel better, she would refer me to a breast surgeon at Northwestern. Four weeks later, I saw the surgeon, who finally ordered a comprehensive mammogram and ultrasound, and another four weeks later, a biopsy. Even though biopsy came back as positive for stage one breast cancer, I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I had stopped after the first doctor's opinion? It could have taken years to grow and spread, but luckily I'm getting it taken care of now. We have to be responsible for our own health and well being and fortunately, I've learned this at an early age. I'm going to be just fine.

Instead of moping around the house, waiting for each week to pass until my next test or surgery, I've decided to be proactive and sign up for the Avon Breast Cancer Walk in June. It will be the first step (39 miles, actually) of many that I take in the fight against breast cancer. If you'd like to contribute to my fundraising goal, click on the link below or send me an email. I would be forever grateful for your contribution. Also, please pass my story along to anyone you think might benefit from it.

Click here to donate to Erica's fundraising campaign!

Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I wish you all nothing but joy and love. I will keep you posted on our progress.

Hope to see you very soon,

Erica

**1 in 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Early detection is the key to survival.**