I'm feeling inspired. I'm feeling inspired to write about...I'm not quite sure. My life maybe. Or maybe the fact that I am still able to have one. Last year at this time I was being released from the hospital. I weighed slightly over 100 pounds and was strongly advised to begin taking an anti-depressant. The cancer was gone but at the time it felt like my spirit was to. Instead of being grateful that I even got to celebrate Christmas I hoped and prayed to just stop existing. Because really what's the point of breathing when you're not really living?
This year the cancer is back but my spirit is alive. And kicking. And dancing. It's dancing like it's had one too many actually. Although I am not 100% as I sit and write this I am happy to be here. Genuinely happy to be a part of the Universe that I believe some crazy divine entity has created. I have been blessed with many who love me. My circle is small, but meaningful. The thought of leaving any of these amazing people makes me literally want to puke.
I am often in pain and there are days when I feel like whoever created me has given me too much garbage for one life time. Days when I think the Universe has been unjust in the cards it has dealt me. I have truly lived more than many double my age. I have dealt with so much loss and so much dysfunction in my 22 years that there are days I honestly believe I was put on this planet as some sadistic satisfaction to an unholy spirit. I do not mean to sound dramatic or whiny. But this is my blog and I can say whatever the fuck I want. The point is, this Christmas has reminded me of something that I have been forgetting lately. It has reminded me to always remember the little things that matter. The things that no matter how hard things get always make me smile. Things like my Dad surprising me at the hospital. Or my Mom making my favourite dinner when I visit. Or waking up to the amazing good morning texts I receive every day. Or mine and Betty's inside jokes. Or my friends surprising me with flowers. You get the point. The list goes on and on. I have forgotten that these are the things that truly matter. The moments where I am so full of love I feel like it should explode out of my ears.
I hope that this Christmas you felt that way. I hope that you felt so warm and fuzzy you actually thought maybe you had a fever. I hope you continue to feel this way and I hope you never forget to remember the little things. Merry Christmas to everyone who is bored enough to read this - May the Universe bring you health, happiness and love in the new year.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
The Common Denominator
Since being diagnosed with near stage 2 cancer last year I have built a
rather substantial network of support within the young adult cancer community.
I like to think of myself as a bit of an advocate for those I know in Edmonton
and have supported quite a few people on their own journey through this
disease. When I was diagnosed I initially found no support. I had not told my
friends, except about four of them, and the only people at my cancer center who
had what I had were about fifty years old. People would constantly run up to me
and say things like, “Oh, my aunt has that” or, “my grandma had that, don’t
worry she’s fine.” While I am sad that your family member, coworker, person you
met once on a street has cancer, their age kind of doesn’t apply to my
situation. Losing ovary function at the age of fifty is extremely different than
losing it at the age of twenty one. But I digress.
Since then I have united with a huge network of people my own age with cancer. People who literally understand everything that I go through. I have even had the pleasure and the honor of attending Stupid Cancer’s OMG Summit in good ol’ Viva Las Vegas! If you don’t know what Stupid Cancer is and are interested, feel free to check them out online or on facebook. They are an amazing organization who have changed my life and I urge any young person facing cancer to reach out and see what they have to offer. Young Adult Cancer Canada (YACC) is another amazing organization who also have plenty to offer for my Canadian homies. Both of these organizations have introduced me to plenty of amazing friends from both Canada and the United States. They have allowed me to connect with people similar to me and have made my journey that much easier.
My point of this post, however, is not to share how wonderful my network of support is (although they are. They really are). It is to shed light on a common issue I have observed since finding this network. I first noticed it in Vegas at my conference, but since have witnessed it a thousand times over here at home. All of us young cancer warriors, myself included, absolutely love, with all of our heart and souls, to the moon and back kind of love; our prescription drugs. Prior to being diagnosed I prided myself on being extremely natural. Being the dirty hippie I am, as my family so lovingly calls me, I did not even like taking a Tylenol for extreme migraines. I used herbs and natural remedies to shake off a cold. Smelling like garlic I would drown myself in teas and honey, refusing to let any nasty manmade substance fight my symptoms for me. Even in the first few months of my cancer treatments I would throw out my prescribed pain killers. Having suffered with an addictive personality in the past I was hesitant to allow any sort of narcotic to again enter my body. This all changed with my first dose of morphine. After suffering with an undiagnosed infection for a solid month I was rushed to the hospital. When I arrived the doctors asked me what I was taking for pain. I told them I took Tylenol on occasion but otherwise had been using a heat bag to try and calm the pain. I had actual burn marks where the heat bag had been overused. I have a high threshold for pain. So high, in fact, that the doctors told me that what I was suffering from was a cyst larger than a grapefruit which had literally shifted all of the internal organs in my abdomen. I had been living with this over a month….without pain killers. Needless to say they injected me with morphine within minutes. Ten minutes later I was on cloud nine. I had never felt so amazing. Thus began my journey, actually, thus began my struggle with prescription medication.
This is not just my story. When in Vegas I witnessed young cancer warriors popping valiums like they were sour patch kids. When I complained of not being able to sleep, everyone suddenly popped three different kinds of pills into my hands. Pills for waking up, pills for numbing throughout the day, and pills to fall asleep at night. White pills, blue pills, pills as big as my head! Zazu from the Lion King would have been impressed. It was a junkie’s heaven. And why the hell not? Why shouldn’t they be allowed to do whatever it takes to avoid the constant pain they feel? These pills help not only with the excruciating physical pain, but also with the emotional pain. This post is not to place blame or judgment upon my peers. But rather shed awareness on an issue that is slowly but surely taking over our lives.
My question to you all, and also to myself is; what happens when the cancer is over? What happens when we can no longer justify to our doctors the need for the pills we so dearly love and rely on? At the end of the day an addiction is an addiction. The problem with prescription medication is that it is so easily justified. People allow you to take them and even encourage them. The expression, “why suffer when you don’t have to” is thrown around without even the slightest consideration of risk. While some hide their use, others throw it out there in what I believe is an attempt at seeking help. To those battling with this currently, and if this hits a little too close to home, I urge you to consider seeking help before it is too late. If you are still not ready to reach out or do not think that there is even a problem that is OK to. We move through this terrible disease at our own pace. It is only my intention in this post to help make you aware that this problem exists. Sometimes we become so wrapped up in our cancer comas that we do not pay attention to other trivial problems. Fighting for our lives takes precedence over anything else. I just worry that for some, by the time cancer becomes a memory, they will be faced with an addiction that will greatly impact their ability to find their ‘new normal’.
Since then I have united with a huge network of people my own age with cancer. People who literally understand everything that I go through. I have even had the pleasure and the honor of attending Stupid Cancer’s OMG Summit in good ol’ Viva Las Vegas! If you don’t know what Stupid Cancer is and are interested, feel free to check them out online or on facebook. They are an amazing organization who have changed my life and I urge any young person facing cancer to reach out and see what they have to offer. Young Adult Cancer Canada (YACC) is another amazing organization who also have plenty to offer for my Canadian homies. Both of these organizations have introduced me to plenty of amazing friends from both Canada and the United States. They have allowed me to connect with people similar to me and have made my journey that much easier.
My point of this post, however, is not to share how wonderful my network of support is (although they are. They really are). It is to shed light on a common issue I have observed since finding this network. I first noticed it in Vegas at my conference, but since have witnessed it a thousand times over here at home. All of us young cancer warriors, myself included, absolutely love, with all of our heart and souls, to the moon and back kind of love; our prescription drugs. Prior to being diagnosed I prided myself on being extremely natural. Being the dirty hippie I am, as my family so lovingly calls me, I did not even like taking a Tylenol for extreme migraines. I used herbs and natural remedies to shake off a cold. Smelling like garlic I would drown myself in teas and honey, refusing to let any nasty manmade substance fight my symptoms for me. Even in the first few months of my cancer treatments I would throw out my prescribed pain killers. Having suffered with an addictive personality in the past I was hesitant to allow any sort of narcotic to again enter my body. This all changed with my first dose of morphine. After suffering with an undiagnosed infection for a solid month I was rushed to the hospital. When I arrived the doctors asked me what I was taking for pain. I told them I took Tylenol on occasion but otherwise had been using a heat bag to try and calm the pain. I had actual burn marks where the heat bag had been overused. I have a high threshold for pain. So high, in fact, that the doctors told me that what I was suffering from was a cyst larger than a grapefruit which had literally shifted all of the internal organs in my abdomen. I had been living with this over a month….without pain killers. Needless to say they injected me with morphine within minutes. Ten minutes later I was on cloud nine. I had never felt so amazing. Thus began my journey, actually, thus began my struggle with prescription medication.
This is not just my story. When in Vegas I witnessed young cancer warriors popping valiums like they were sour patch kids. When I complained of not being able to sleep, everyone suddenly popped three different kinds of pills into my hands. Pills for waking up, pills for numbing throughout the day, and pills to fall asleep at night. White pills, blue pills, pills as big as my head! Zazu from the Lion King would have been impressed. It was a junkie’s heaven. And why the hell not? Why shouldn’t they be allowed to do whatever it takes to avoid the constant pain they feel? These pills help not only with the excruciating physical pain, but also with the emotional pain. This post is not to place blame or judgment upon my peers. But rather shed awareness on an issue that is slowly but surely taking over our lives.
My question to you all, and also to myself is; what happens when the cancer is over? What happens when we can no longer justify to our doctors the need for the pills we so dearly love and rely on? At the end of the day an addiction is an addiction. The problem with prescription medication is that it is so easily justified. People allow you to take them and even encourage them. The expression, “why suffer when you don’t have to” is thrown around without even the slightest consideration of risk. While some hide their use, others throw it out there in what I believe is an attempt at seeking help. To those battling with this currently, and if this hits a little too close to home, I urge you to consider seeking help before it is too late. If you are still not ready to reach out or do not think that there is even a problem that is OK to. We move through this terrible disease at our own pace. It is only my intention in this post to help make you aware that this problem exists. Sometimes we become so wrapped up in our cancer comas that we do not pay attention to other trivial problems. Fighting for our lives takes precedence over anything else. I just worry that for some, by the time cancer becomes a memory, they will be faced with an addiction that will greatly impact their ability to find their ‘new normal’.
Pay attention to your habits. Be honest with yourself. Help
can be found easily online or within our AYA community. Reach out, get educated
and most importantly, don’t beat yourself up – you’re still a fucking warrior.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
What I've Learned This Year
This year has been a series of ups and downs for me. Obviously my recurrence being the greatest down of all. This post is not about that though. Instead, it's about the most important thing that I have learned for myself in 2013. Like everything else in my life though it partially relates back to my illness. Without it I cannot honestly say that I would have taken the time to reflect as I have. Often we take for granted our lives and don't willingly spend time analyzing our patterns or our behaviours. This is especially true for me. I would love to sit and tell you that I have always been the whimsical character you know and love (HA!) but it would be total bullshit. Truth is it was not until a few years ago that I was literally forced to look at my life and finally realize; I was doing shit all wrong. I was selfish. Narcissistic. Mean. Vindictive. But most of all, I was angry. Really fucking angry. In trying to stick to my topic the details of this anger and the path it set me on are not relative. Perhaps one day I can explore that objectively. For now I choose to reflect on my past as simply that; my past. Whatever brought on my anger brought along a slew of problems. Relationships with my loved ones suffered, my work suffered, and almost every area of my life was hindered by this constant jaded attitude. When I finally began to reflect and work on this it opened my eyes to how much of life I had been missing. When I got diagnosed, it did so even more. But, like most human beings, I am a masochist and complete glutton for punishment. I could not possibly learn from my mistakes quite yet. It has not been until this year, maybe even this hour, that I have finally learned one of the best things I believe should be passed onto you all. STOP TAKING THOSE YOU LOVE AND THOSE WHO LOVE YOU FOR GRANTED.
I can hold a grudge. Not for a few hours, or even a few days. I mean...I can hold a fucking grudge. In my defense these grudges always stem from a place of deep hurt. Anger always claims the grudge, but as I know now, anger is always a secondary emotion to something much deeper. When you're angry you are actually hurt, scared, sad, embarrassed....the list goes on and on. What I have learned this year though is that I have wasted so much valuable time without the people I care about. Time that I am just not guaranteed. When I think back over the summer and over my life and the people who I chose to stop speaking to over stupid fights, or because I thought they would hurt me I realize how many fucking moments of fun and love I missed out on. The people who love you unconditionally should be able to rely on you to be there through good times and bad if you also love them unconditionally. Fights will always happen. People will always say the wrong things. But being able to forgive, move on and make it work saves so much time and energy that is otherwise wasted being angry.
If I could go back in time and reclaim those lost moments, I would. Unfortunately we are not given that opportunity. If we are, however, given the opportunity to have these people in our lives again we should take full advantage. Treat them well. You just never know if this might be your last chance to learn from your mistakes. While we should all forgive and move past, we should also remember that at some point someone is not going to stick around forever if you continue to treat them badly. I am grateful that those in my life have given me second chances and I intend to spend all the rest of whatever moments I have left with them making sure they know they matter.
So. That's it. That's all I got. It is my hope that in reading this you choose not to make the same mistakes I have. I hope that it does not take something huge such as losing someone invaluable to you to make you realize they mattered.
Should I end this with a Namaste? Kidding.
I can hold a grudge. Not for a few hours, or even a few days. I mean...I can hold a fucking grudge. In my defense these grudges always stem from a place of deep hurt. Anger always claims the grudge, but as I know now, anger is always a secondary emotion to something much deeper. When you're angry you are actually hurt, scared, sad, embarrassed....the list goes on and on. What I have learned this year though is that I have wasted so much valuable time without the people I care about. Time that I am just not guaranteed. When I think back over the summer and over my life and the people who I chose to stop speaking to over stupid fights, or because I thought they would hurt me I realize how many fucking moments of fun and love I missed out on. The people who love you unconditionally should be able to rely on you to be there through good times and bad if you also love them unconditionally. Fights will always happen. People will always say the wrong things. But being able to forgive, move on and make it work saves so much time and energy that is otherwise wasted being angry.
If I could go back in time and reclaim those lost moments, I would. Unfortunately we are not given that opportunity. If we are, however, given the opportunity to have these people in our lives again we should take full advantage. Treat them well. You just never know if this might be your last chance to learn from your mistakes. While we should all forgive and move past, we should also remember that at some point someone is not going to stick around forever if you continue to treat them badly. I am grateful that those in my life have given me second chances and I intend to spend all the rest of whatever moments I have left with them making sure they know they matter.
So. That's it. That's all I got. It is my hope that in reading this you choose not to make the same mistakes I have. I hope that it does not take something huge such as losing someone invaluable to you to make you realize they mattered.
Should I end this with a Namaste? Kidding.
The Boy with the Panther Tattoo
In December 2012 I broke someone's heart. Now, before you get all high and mighty on yourself for thinking I am high and mighty on MYself let me explain.
When I was diagnosed with cancer in August 2012 shortly after I began seeing someone I believed that was it for me. I thought no man alive would ever allow such a burden to consume their life. I broke the news to him that I was sick. Damaged. Forgetting the fact that my life was already in crisis when he met me. But that's a story for later.
He accepted the news with open arms. I wondered at the time if he accepted it on the basis of guilt. Did he think he would be considered an insensitive prick for breaking up with the cancer girl? Or was he just raised so god damned well that he would be willing to sit with me through the hardest journey of my life when he had not even known me for six months? Regardless of why he did it - he did. Even when I did everything in my power to push, shove, claw, and scream my way out of it. I tried scaring him; "I'm probably just going to die, you know." I tried giving him reasons; "You should be living a normal life with someone else." I even tried losing so much weight I looked like a fourteen year old boy before puberty (just kidding, I lost the weight because of brachytherapy - yay cancer!). Whatever I did, he stayed. Not only did he stay, he was like a fucking savior. When I was tired, he put me to bed. Hungry? He cooked. Amazingly well. When I was in the hospital he stayed there every single night on a fold out couch to make sure that I had someone to help me take a piss in the middle of the night. He helped me bathe when I physically could not stand up. He dressed me in hospital gowns, careful to avoid all the stitches and tubes sticking out of my abdomen. He did not miss one single chemo appointment and would dive into any nurse, doctor, dietician, physiotherapist, or stupid hospital student who even uttered the words 'negative prognosis'. My dad called him my pitbull. He was the man you heard about in books and movies but never the man I thought I would be lucky enough to have love me.
In December I awoke from what I call my 'cancer coma'. Suddenly after enduring four months of hell on earth I began to see the light again. I was ready to go back to work. I wanted to travel. I could finally even have sex again! Things were falling back into place. Suddenly I wanted my life back. All of it. I wanted everything it could offer me and I wasn't going to waste a single second of it. Four months may not seem like a long hiatus, but for someone who worked three jobs, attended full time university, and spent every weekend finding any adventure I could manipulate my way into, four months felt like a life time. Suddenly my relationship seemed like a burden. It reminded me of everything I was stuck facing while I was off being cancery. Every time I looked into his amazing blue eyes I no longer saw the man who took care of me in my time of struggle. Instead, I saw doctors telling me that I was barren. I saw a drain bag hooked up to my pelvis full of blood. I no longer smelled his scent. Instead I smelled the radiation burning into my stomach day after day while I laid there, exposed on a metal table for any doctor who should decide they wanted to take a look. Kissing him made me taste chemo; metallic, acidic and poisonous.
My knight in shining armor became a mirror that reflected back onto me everything that I hated and so desperately wanted to forget. It was then that I decided to end things.
A year later as I finally have the lady balls to look back and reflect on the situation I will not regret the decision that I made. Should he ever have the chance to read this, or should I ever be given the opportunity to speak with him I would pounce on the opportunity to say that I am sorry, but not for the reason you would think. He and I were not meant to be. Despite his amazing testament and loyalty to me we were not soul mates. Whatever the hell that means. I believe to this day that some Divine force placed us together at that moment in time as a lesson to the both of us. Without him my struggle would have undeniably been worse. I am not sure what lesson he learned from me, but I hope often that it is not one of regret or remorse. I've gotten off topic. If I could apologize to him for one thing, it would be that I am sorry for allowing my illness to romanticize our relationship. I knew better from the start, but because of my own thirst and need I allowed myself to take advantage of his compassion. I allowed him to fill a void inside me that I should have filled myself.
For the first time in my life I believe I now know how he felt when I cold heartedly decided to end things. Until recently I always believed that I knew how shitty break ups were. The truth is until last year I never truly appreciated what it meant to love unconditionally. He taught me that. He taught me that it is possible. Recently I believe that I felt the way he felt when I left him and it opened my eyes. No longer will I make romantic promises of marriage, babies, or his and her matching towels if I am not 100% sure that I mean it. It can be fun to do these things. To speak about the future as though words are promises. However, as I recently learned, when you're serious about these things and the other is not, it is absolutely devastating when it comes to an end. You are left hanging with a huge WHY over your head. Why did you even talk about these things if you weren't serious? Why is it so easy for you to walk away? Why promise to be around and then leave? We have all done this. Joked about wedding cakes and who in the wedding party is destined to fuck after the reception. But I am here to say, STOP. Don't do it. Not unless you are beyond sure that you intend to stick with this person through anything. We owe each other this empathy. At some point we all have our hearts broken. It is our responsibility in the trials of love to simply remember that we are not all that different from one another. Remember that time someone ripped your heart out of your chest, shoved anal beads in it and then set it on fire? Yeah, that sucked didn't it? Lets all do our best to not do that to someone else. Treat other peoples hearts how you would want your own to be treated.
Oh, and to the boy with the panther tattoo....Thank you.
When I was diagnosed with cancer in August 2012 shortly after I began seeing someone I believed that was it for me. I thought no man alive would ever allow such a burden to consume their life. I broke the news to him that I was sick. Damaged. Forgetting the fact that my life was already in crisis when he met me. But that's a story for later.
He accepted the news with open arms. I wondered at the time if he accepted it on the basis of guilt. Did he think he would be considered an insensitive prick for breaking up with the cancer girl? Or was he just raised so god damned well that he would be willing to sit with me through the hardest journey of my life when he had not even known me for six months? Regardless of why he did it - he did. Even when I did everything in my power to push, shove, claw, and scream my way out of it. I tried scaring him; "I'm probably just going to die, you know." I tried giving him reasons; "You should be living a normal life with someone else." I even tried losing so much weight I looked like a fourteen year old boy before puberty (just kidding, I lost the weight because of brachytherapy - yay cancer!). Whatever I did, he stayed. Not only did he stay, he was like a fucking savior. When I was tired, he put me to bed. Hungry? He cooked. Amazingly well. When I was in the hospital he stayed there every single night on a fold out couch to make sure that I had someone to help me take a piss in the middle of the night. He helped me bathe when I physically could not stand up. He dressed me in hospital gowns, careful to avoid all the stitches and tubes sticking out of my abdomen. He did not miss one single chemo appointment and would dive into any nurse, doctor, dietician, physiotherapist, or stupid hospital student who even uttered the words 'negative prognosis'. My dad called him my pitbull. He was the man you heard about in books and movies but never the man I thought I would be lucky enough to have love me.
In December I awoke from what I call my 'cancer coma'. Suddenly after enduring four months of hell on earth I began to see the light again. I was ready to go back to work. I wanted to travel. I could finally even have sex again! Things were falling back into place. Suddenly I wanted my life back. All of it. I wanted everything it could offer me and I wasn't going to waste a single second of it. Four months may not seem like a long hiatus, but for someone who worked three jobs, attended full time university, and spent every weekend finding any adventure I could manipulate my way into, four months felt like a life time. Suddenly my relationship seemed like a burden. It reminded me of everything I was stuck facing while I was off being cancery. Every time I looked into his amazing blue eyes I no longer saw the man who took care of me in my time of struggle. Instead, I saw doctors telling me that I was barren. I saw a drain bag hooked up to my pelvis full of blood. I no longer smelled his scent. Instead I smelled the radiation burning into my stomach day after day while I laid there, exposed on a metal table for any doctor who should decide they wanted to take a look. Kissing him made me taste chemo; metallic, acidic and poisonous.
My knight in shining armor became a mirror that reflected back onto me everything that I hated and so desperately wanted to forget. It was then that I decided to end things.
A year later as I finally have the lady balls to look back and reflect on the situation I will not regret the decision that I made. Should he ever have the chance to read this, or should I ever be given the opportunity to speak with him I would pounce on the opportunity to say that I am sorry, but not for the reason you would think. He and I were not meant to be. Despite his amazing testament and loyalty to me we were not soul mates. Whatever the hell that means. I believe to this day that some Divine force placed us together at that moment in time as a lesson to the both of us. Without him my struggle would have undeniably been worse. I am not sure what lesson he learned from me, but I hope often that it is not one of regret or remorse. I've gotten off topic. If I could apologize to him for one thing, it would be that I am sorry for allowing my illness to romanticize our relationship. I knew better from the start, but because of my own thirst and need I allowed myself to take advantage of his compassion. I allowed him to fill a void inside me that I should have filled myself.
For the first time in my life I believe I now know how he felt when I cold heartedly decided to end things. Until recently I always believed that I knew how shitty break ups were. The truth is until last year I never truly appreciated what it meant to love unconditionally. He taught me that. He taught me that it is possible. Recently I believe that I felt the way he felt when I left him and it opened my eyes. No longer will I make romantic promises of marriage, babies, or his and her matching towels if I am not 100% sure that I mean it. It can be fun to do these things. To speak about the future as though words are promises. However, as I recently learned, when you're serious about these things and the other is not, it is absolutely devastating when it comes to an end. You are left hanging with a huge WHY over your head. Why did you even talk about these things if you weren't serious? Why is it so easy for you to walk away? Why promise to be around and then leave? We have all done this. Joked about wedding cakes and who in the wedding party is destined to fuck after the reception. But I am here to say, STOP. Don't do it. Not unless you are beyond sure that you intend to stick with this person through anything. We owe each other this empathy. At some point we all have our hearts broken. It is our responsibility in the trials of love to simply remember that we are not all that different from one another. Remember that time someone ripped your heart out of your chest, shoved anal beads in it and then set it on fire? Yeah, that sucked didn't it? Lets all do our best to not do that to someone else. Treat other peoples hearts how you would want your own to be treated.
Oh, and to the boy with the panther tattoo....Thank you.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Where the fuck do I start?
Well as this is my first blog post ever I don't suppose I have a real style or voice. I have been wanting to write one for over a year now but unfortunately I enjoy naps, TV shows and hiding from my thoughts more. Many of you have asked me to share some of my story and while I have always been intrigued I suppose I always questioned why anyone in their right mind would be interested in reading a story like mine. It is then that I remember that most of you are NOT in your right minds, and I dig that.
I plan to use this blog as means of processing the demons inside my head while hopefully making you think about yours as well. Maybe together we can process all of our secret little skeletons and find that magical feeling of peace everyone talks about. Or maybe we can just get really high together and shoot the shit about life and its beautiful idiosyncrasies. Either way, feel free to join me on my journey through cancer, love, life, travel, drugs, music, and sex. I promise it won't be a total drag.
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